


Precedent

by Cdelphiki



Series: In For a Pound [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Explicit Language, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Jason has a potty mouth, Jason joins the family, Parenthood, do not copy to another site, he really tries at least, slow burn found family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 94,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Bruce thought his family was complete.  Sure, Dick might be mad at him and ignoring all his calls, and Damian mad about Dick not returning calls, but that didn't change anything. His family was complete, even if they weren't talking to each other.Then a scrawny little kid jacked his tires, and Bruce started to question what it takes to be family.





	1. Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sequel for _In For a Penny_ but you don't have to read that! This can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> Damian's been living with Bruce since he was 10-months-old and Dick was 11. And that's pretty much all you need to know! Enjoy!

Dick had been shot.

That was all Bruce could think about. It was all he was seeing in his head. The scene on repeat. The entire way back to the cave.

Dick had been shot.

Right in front of him.

And he’d done _nothing_ to stop it.

He had tried. _God_ had he tried, but he wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t strong enough. Wasn’t good enough to save his son.

Bruce was eight years old all over again, watching his world crumble down around him.

Dick had been shot, and Bruce was losing his mind.

“I’m fine,” Dick grumbled for at least the fifteenth time from where he was sitting in the batmobile, keeping pressure on the wound to his side, “you can stop freaking out, you know.”

“You got shot,” Batman growled, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He couldn’t even look over, because if he did, he’d just see Robin fall again. Watch the bullet puncture his suit and bring Dick to the ground.

_His suit._

How on earth had a bullet punctured his suit? Bruce was going to have to upgrade Dick’s uniform. Add armor or something. Dick liked being nimble and flexible, but he’d just have to deal with it if it meant keeping him safer.

“Yeah, but I’m fine,” Dick said, and the attitude in his voice, something that had been quite common in recent years, was doing nothing to help calm Bruce.

“There is a bullet in your side. You are the exact opposite of ‘fine’”

“No there isn’t,” Dick said through clenched teeth, “its just a graze. I’m fine, B, seriously. Calm down.”

He wouldn’t have even been grazed had Dick not jumped out like he did. Batman had it handled. It was just a strong arm robbery.

The gun was unexpected, sure, but nothing Batman couldn’t deal with. Robin did not need to ‘distract’ the robber. He especially didn’t need to _taunt_ him.

It was _stupid_ of him.

_Stupid._

He could have gotten himself killed. Didn’t he understand that? That none of this was a game?

“Do not tell me to calm down,” he snapped, “That was reckless of you. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t. And it worked.”

Bruce looked over to glare at Dick, who was already staring at him with the intensity of an LED lightbulb. His brows creased and lips turned downward.

Dick’s defiant attitude was getting real old.

With a breath, Bruce returned his attention to the road and said as calmly as possible, “It was not worth the risk.”

“Yes it was.”

All Bruce could do was clench his teeth and keep driving.

\- - -

Bruce couldn’t even watch as Alfred stitched Dick up.

He’d been right. It was just a graze. His side would hurt for a while, and take time to heal, but he was fine. He’d had knife wounds worse than this.

But that didn’t change that he’d been _shot._

Right in front of Bruce.

“Ow, Alfred can you not-”

“Excuse me, Master Dick, if my sewing you back together causes a little pain.”

On the word ‘pain,’ Dick grunted again. And if it were any other day, Bruce would probably smile at Alfred directing his sass on Dick instead of himself.

“Would you two relax?” Dick whined, still making pained noises as Alfred kept working on his side, “In the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t even a bad injury.”

“You are seventeen,” Alfred said as he tossed his tools into the metal pan, causing a loud clanging noise, “The idea that you do not see a gunshot wound as ‘bad’ is mildly concerning.”

Dick grumbled something Bruce couldn’t make out, from where he was sitting at the desk _not_ watching Alfred finish bandaging Dick’s side. Whatever it was, Bruce was sure it was rude or in disagreement. But he didn’t really care.

Because Alfred was right.

Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t see a gunshot wound as ‘nothing.’ Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t be defending themselves and their careless actions after being shot. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t be in situations where they get shot, _at all._

Seventeen-year-olds should be in high school, playing football or track or maybe even just in drama club or something. Having fun, relaxing, and looking forward to college in a year.

Seventeen-year-olds should be enjoying the last bit of their childhood. Not fighting crime and risking their lives on a nightly basis.

Dick shouldn’t be risking his life on a nightly basis.

What was Bruce _thinking,_ letting his nine-year-old get into this. Damian would be nine in less than three years. Hell would freeze over before he let him out on the streets like that.

He’d been telling Damian for a couple years now, ever since he found out about the ‘basement,’ that he would be allowed in the cave regularly when he was thirteen. Let in on the operation, if he wanted it. But even that seemed too young, now.

Perhaps his boys would never be old enough to put their lives in danger, in his head.

That was fine.

“Bruce?” Dick asked a moment later, still sitting on the table in the med bay, even though Alfred had finished and was now washing everything at the sink, on the other side of the cave, “Are you going to say something or just glare at your computer?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Bruce said slowly, carefully standing from his chair, so not to make it scoot back loudly or make any part of him seem too angry. If he showed any hint of anger, Dick would just bounce off of it. “It’s too dangerous out there.”

“Um, I don’t know what planet you’re from, but it’s always been like this.”

“It just seems to be getting worse, not better,” Bruce continued, choosing to ignore Dick’s comment as he walked over to where Dick was still sitting, “You’re seventeen. You should be focusing on your senior year and then college next year.”

Dick narrowed his eyes and said, “What the fuck? You can’t make me quit.”

“Yes I can. I should have never let you out there in the first place.”

And it was true.

What kind of father was he? Letting his kid get shot like this.

“What the hell, Bruce?” Dick said, scowling now as he hopped to his feet. Cringing a little, Bruce noticed, as he stretched out his side. “No, you can’t. I’m seventeen-years-old, you can’t-”

“You’re my son!” Bruce boomed, causing Dick to snap his mouth shut mid-sentence, “If I say you aren’t going out there, you aren’t going out there.”

The two of them stood there, the only sound between them their breathing. Dick’s loud and heavy, and Bruce’s quiet and controlled. He had to stay controlled. Shouting was wrong, especially at Dick, who had a monumental temper as of late, but he wouldn’t take back what he said, either.

As far as Bruce was concerned, Robin was done.

After a full minute, Dick said, very quietly, “You only ever use that against me.”

When Bruce didn’t react, Dick rolled his eyes and said, “Fuck you, Bruce. I’m sick of this," then walked right past Bruce, not even sparing a glance back.

And Bruce let him go. He didn’t care how ‘sick of it’ Dick was. He could be as angry and ‘sick of it’ as he wanted. Upstairs. Where he was safe.

“I do hope,” Alfred said, returning to the med bay with the now clean utensils, where Bruce assumed he’d now sanitize them, “You are going to fix that.”

“Yeah, Alf,” Bruce said, almost in a sigh, because of course Alfred was right. He _couldn’t_ leave Dick angry and ‘sick of it.’

Dick was his son. And more than that, he was a good kid, regardless of his temper or attitude. He deserved so much more than what Bruce ever gave him.

“Yeah.”

\- - -

Bruce took his time changing out of his uniform, and eventually found his way upstairs. He’d been thinking a lot about what he’d say to Dick. How he’d explain his thought process and _why_ he wanted Dick to quit.

Firing Dick was probably not the answer, he knew. No one would be able to make _him_ quit, after all. And Dick had been Robin almost as long as he’d been Batman.

So, Bruce needed to sit down and really talk it out with Dick. Get him to see reason. Encourage him to put it down, at least until he finished college.

But all that flew right out the window when he reached Dick’s room and found the door open, and Dick inside shoving clothes in a bag.

“What are you doing?”

Dick looked up for just a second, only to scowl at Bruce before he spun around and started grabbing his more sentimental objects off his bookshelf. “I’m leaving.”

“You-” Bruce started, then stopped just to blink at Dick. Who was still furiously shoving things into his duffle bag, “You can’t just _leave._

“Can and am.” Dick put in one last sweatshirt, over the top of all his more breakable objects, and zipped the bag shut. “I’m going to the tower.”

“When will you be back?”

“Not coming back,” Dick nearly sang, as if this conversation was making him _happier._

Bruce was absolutely baffled.

First off, _seventeen-year-olds_ couldn’t just leave. Dick was still a kid. A child. In Bruce’s care.

“What about school?” he asked incredulously, ready to just scoff at this entire ridiculous idea.

Dick shrugged and said simply, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_? You can’t just drop out, Dick.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick walked toward the door, so Bruce shifted so his body was blocking it entirely.

“I’m not discussing this with you,” Dick said through clenched teeth, from where he stopped right in front of Bruce, “Get out of my way.”

“I’m not letting you just leave,” Bruce asserted, raising his voice a little, as he held his hands out to prevent Dick from pushing past, as he tried to do.

“What are you going to do? Lock me in a closet? Move.”

“If that’s what it takes!”

“Oh, sure,” Dick said, raising his voice to match Bruce’s, “That’s not illegal or anything. I’ll just call for Clark and he’ll come help. Like hell he’d stand for your assholery.”

“He wouldn’t stand for you leaving,” Bruce snapped, then shook his head and continued, “We aren’t talking about Clark. We’re talking about _you._ A child. Who isn’t _leaving.”_

Bruce had to close his eyes when the door across the hall creaked open and a sleepy voice said, “Dad? Dick? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Damian, go back to bed.”

When Bruce turned to look at Damian, Dick slipped past and positioned himself in the hall, facing both Bruce and Damian, frowning at both of them.

Damian looked pathetic, standing in the doorway in his too-big pajamas, clutching at his little cow toy he still slept with at six-years-old.

“Dick?” Damian said tentatively, eyeing Dick’s bag before he glanced at Bruce briefly, “Where are you going?”

At that, Dick’s frown deepened, and he stepped forward to ruffle Damian’s hair. “Sorry squirt,” he said softly, kneeling down to look him in the eyes and give a sad smile, “I’ll call you, I promise.”

“ _Dick,”_ Bruce snapped, just as Damian made a confused noise.

Dick stood and started walking toward the stairs. “Goodbye, Bruce.”

“Wait,” Damian shouted, now looking alert as he chased after Dick, his voice growing more desperate with every word, “Dick, wait. You can’t leave! Where are you going? When will you be back?”

Bruce followed after, resigning himself to let Dick just leave, for now. And then wait for him to calm down and get over his little tantrum. School started back in September and it was only July.  He had time to throw his little fit with the Titans for a few weeks.

Because Dick was right. He couldn’t actually make him stay. Not physically. Not without actually locking him in a closet, which, Dick could easily free himself from. Bruce had taught him how to do so, after all.

By the time they reached the garage, Damian was crying, begging Dick not to leave. So Bruce grabbed Damian’s arm and held him back, so he wouldn’t chase Dick right out into the garage and put himself in danger by getting too close to the car. Bruce knew Dick wouldn’t run Damian over, but if there was no possibility of an accident, one wouldn’t happen.

“Let go,” Damian cried, trying to pull away and enter the garage, “Dad, please. Make him stop.”

Kneeling down, Bruce wrapped his arms around Damian, both holding him back and trying to offer him a little comfort. Damian kept crying as they watched Dick toss his bag into the trunk of his car and start it up. As soon as the garage door was open, he backed out and didn’t even look in their direction.

Didn’t even wave.

Damian’s crying got louder as the garage closed, so Bruce tightened his arms and said, “It’s okay. He’ll be back. It’s not forever, okay?”

And apparently those weren’t the right words. Because Damian pushed Bruce off him and spun to face him, all four feet of him. “This is all your fault,” he cried, trying his best to scowl through his tears as he stomped a foot, “I hate you.”

Sighing, Bruce just stayed kneeling, long after Damian had run off, probably back to his bedroom to cry more.

How had he messed all this up so badly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! I'm excited to be starting this. Updates will be weekly (mostly. Summer is busy for me, there will be a few weeks I have to skip because of work trips or vacation, but I'll let you know ahead of time.) 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!!! <3


	2. Distraction

It had been 43 days since Dick left. 36 since he quit answering Damian’s calls. 12 since Damian quit calling. And four since Damian last spoke to Dad.

_Father._

He was calling him Father now. The term made Dad twitch whenever Damian used it, so he liked using it. Dad deserved to remember how mad Damian was at him. He’d driven Dick away.

Damian poked at his cornflakes with his spoon. He wasn’t really hungry, but Alfred insisted he eat just a _little._ He hadn’t really been eating much lately, and it was making Alfred sad.

And he hated making Alfred sad. Especially since Alfred was already sad about Dick leaving, too. So he took another bite of the cereal, crunching on it louder than necessary as he rested his head in his hand.

Alfred would _also_ be sad about his elbows on the table. But table manners were less important than eating food, obviously.

His cornflakes weren’t very good. They weren’t even frosted. And plain dry cornflakes sucked. Da— Father. Father insisted they tasted better with milk, but Damian refused to drink milk. And even though Alfred had bought him all sorts of other types of milks, like almond or cashew, he still didn’t like it on cereal.

Boredom was something threatening to kill Damian. _Kill_ him. Literally. He was going to die.

Without Dick there, the manor felt too big. Sure, he had Ace, and Ace was great. An awesome playmate. But Ace was a dog, and he didn’t talk back. Dick talked back and was fun to play games with. Ace didn’t know how to play Connect 4.

And since school didn’t start for another couple weeks, Damian had _nothing_ to do.

The cornflakes crunched when he smacked his spoon down, and Damian just huffed.

Stupid gross not frosted cereal.

“Psssst,” a voice whispered from the doorway behind him. Damian spun to look, and found Selina’s head poking into the room, a mischievous grin on her face. “Hey, kitten. Come here.”

“What is it?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow, but not getting up. He was supposed to be finishing his bowl of cereal.

“I’ve got something for you.”

At that, Damian perked up. “What is it?” he asked, allowing a grin on his face. Selina’s gifts were always _awesome._ Like the giant elephant stuffed animal she got him last year. The one bigger than him, that Dad hates, but he loves because he can curl up on it and read books with Ace.

“It’s a surprise. Follow me.”

Damian practically skipped as he followed Selina to the living room, where he found a small pet carrier right in the center of the room, where Ace was sniffing at it, his tail wagging so hard it made Damian smile. Was it a puppy? Did Selina bring a puppy? Is that why Ace was so excited?

“Ace, shoo,” Selina said, swatting her hands near Ace, forcing him to back up. He whined as Selina said, “Out,” to him, and left the room in a pout. Selina shut the door, locking Ace out of the room, then turned to grin at Damian.

“For me?” Damian asked as he approached the carrier, trying not to bounce in his excitement as he looked inside and saw _a cat._

“No she’s mine I’m just letting you look at her.”

“Oh.” Damian frowned, but then the kitty opened her eyes and peered out at Damian, and he couldn’t not smile.

“Yes, Damian,” Selina said, almost laughing, “She’s yours.”

“Really? Did Dad say I could have her?”

"Of course he did,” Selina said, laughing, “Would I bring you a cat if I didn’t have your dad’s permission?”

Now Damian was bouncing. Even if it made him look like a little child, like Dick always said. He was excited and he couldn’t contain himself. He quickly put his hand up to the latch on the door, just to have Selina catch it.

“Careful there. Don’t scare her.” She shooed Damian back and motioned for the rug in front of the couch and said, “Why don’t you sit on the floor over there and I’ll open it.”

Damian quickly obeyed and crawled over to the rug, eager to sit criss cross and wait for his new kitty to come out.

“Let her come to you, okay? Don’t make grabby hands at her.”

“I can do that,” he promised, setting his hands on his knees.

He had a new kitty! A kitty. And it was all his. Selina was the was the best. She got him a _kitten._ And had somehow convinced Dad that he should have it, even though he’s been saying no to more pets forever. He loved her _so_ much.

After a few moments, a tiny black and white kitten slipped out of the carrier and quickly hid under the coffee table, poking her head out to look at Damian. Selina handed Damian a handful of treats to lure the kitty over, so he held one out as far as he could without actually moving from his spot.

Slowly, cautiously, the kitten crept over to Damian and sniffed at the treat before licking at Damian’s finger and gobbling it right up. Giggling, Damian fed her a few more treats and looked up at Selina. “How old is she?”

Selina crossed her arms and smiled, standing a few feet away as she watched Damian and the kitty. “Six months.”

The kitten crawled up in Damian’s lap, so he settled back and started scratching at her head while he kept feeding her treats. “Where’d you get her?”

“I found her in an alley a few months ago. She was too young to be separated from her mother, so she needed a lot of special attention. But she’s ready for her forever home.”

“With me?”

“Yes, kiddo. With you.”

Damian grinned and scratched the kitten’s neck, then asked, “What’s her name?”

“That’s yours to choose.”

Selina was really, seriously, completely the best. He didn’t even get to name Ace. Dad said that was because he would have just named him ‘goggy,’ since he had been a baby and that’s how he said dog at the time, but that was not the point! Selina was going to let him name his cat!

“She looks like Figaro,” he said after a couple minutes of inspecting his new kitten. Looking at her black fur with her white face and tummy and paws.

“She does, doesn’t she?”

A tuxedo was another thing she reminded him of, but Figaro was his favorite movie cat. “Hi Figaro,” he said, picking her up and looking her right in the face, “Ace is going to _love_ you.”

That was when the door to the living room opened, and Ace’s barking, which had been muffled by the door, could be heard much louder.

Dad stepped inside, holding tight to Ace’s collar, as he asked, “Why is Ace…. Really, Selina?”

“Dad!” Damian shouted, cradling his kitty to his chest, “Look, this is Figaro. Isn’t she cute?”

Ace tried to pull away from Dad to get to Damian and the kitty, so he had to grab on with both his hands. “Is it really a good idea to have a kitten in the same house as Ace?” Dad asked, looking over at Selina.

Damian furrowed his brow and said to Selina, “You said-” just for her to cut him off.

“Oh, Ace is a sweetheart. They’ll be fine.”

The way Dad scowled at Selina made Damian falter a little. Because Selina said Dad had approved. But obviously he hadn’t. Was he going to make Selina take the cat away?

But instead, Dad reluctantly walked Ace over to him and the kitten. Damian giggled at the way Ace stuck his face right in Damian’s, so he could get his nose right on top of the cat’s head. He sniffed at the cat for a good minute, before he nudged her with his nose and then licked at her, and then at Damian.

“Good boy,” Damian said, freeing one of his hands so he could pet at Ace, “This is Figaro. You and her are going to be best friends.”

“I told you no cats, Selina,” Dad grumbled, but it was too late. Way too late.

“Selina already gave her to me,” Damian said, hugging Figaro a little closer, “You can’t take her now.”

“Damian-” Dad said, but Damian was not going to listen to him.

“No,” he said, ready to get up and defend Figaro. Or maybe go hide behind Selina and let Selina defend Figaro. Dad almost never said no to Selina. That was a true fact he and Dick had figured out a while ago.

But he didn’t have to keep arguing with Dad, because Alfred walked in and gave Damian a quizzical look.

“Alfred,” Damian shouted, bouncing over to show Alfred Figaro, “Look what Selina gave me! Her name is Figaro. Like on Pinocchio.”

“I see,” Alfred said, bending over to look at Figaro before he carefully scratched her head, “Do you expect to keep it?”

“ _Her,_ Alfred, and yes. Selina gave her to me.”

“Are we running a zoo now, then?” Alfred asked, standing back up and looking around the room. Dad had let go of Ace and was now standing next to Selina, and Ace was busy sniffing out the pet carrier.

Damian knew Alfred was joking. Being _sarcastic._ But running a zoo would be fun. “Can we? Then we could have a cow!”

“No cows,” Dad snapped, looking up from his whispering with Selina, “That is where I will draw the line.”

“We could keep her in the cave,” Damian said. Like he always said. They’d argued about him getting a cow a lot of times. Ever since he first saw a real cow.

“That is not the appropriate habitat for a cow,” Dad said, which was new. Usually he just said ‘no, drop it.’

Maybe Dad was considering it? Damian would start talking to him again if he let him have a cow.

Wait. Damian had been talking to him for several minutes now.

Oops.

Oh, well. Maybe he could have a cow!

“Then we can keep her in the gardens.”

Alfred scoffed and said, “Certainly not.” Of course he wouldn’t let a cow in his garden.

“Jon has a cow,” Damian whined, trying to put on his most pouty sad face Dick said he could use to always get his way. Sometimes it worked. Like when he was trying to get Dad to read him one more story.

“Jon lives on a farm,” Dad said, “That’s where cows belong. On farms. And you have an open invitation to that farm. All you have to do is ask Clark to bring you.”

Damian frowned and sat down on the couch, still holding onto Figaro as she purred in his arms. “It’s not the same, I want my own.”

“No, because I know you’d leave all the care to Alfred and _that’s_ not fair.”

“I would not!” Damian protested, because he wouldn’t! He’d gladly feed his cow and pet her and play with her.

Dad just raised an eyebrow and asked, “You’d get up and milk the cow every morning?”

 _“No._ Because our cow wouldn’t produce milk because we wouldn’t impregnate her every year.” Damian had read all about lactation after he and Selina watched a documentary about dairy farms. She’d even taken him to the library so he could find cool books about it. He _knew_ how cows worked. Obviously Dad didn’t.

Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t let Damian have one.

“That’s why cows produce milk, you know,” he said, when he realized all Dad was going to do was glare, “For their offspring.”

“You’re not getting a cow.”

All Damian could do was pout at the finality of Dad’s words. But when he looked down, he saw his kitten, curled up and falling asleep in his arms, and he remembered. Dad had been trying to not keep her. But now he’d forgotten all about it.

Grinning, Damian hopped up and said, “Come on, Ace, let’s go show Figaro my room. She can sleep in my bed with me.”

When he was halfway out of the room, he realized he hadn’t thanked Selina, so he turned and ran over to her. Holding the kitten to his side, he wrapped his free arm around her and said, “Thanks, Selina. I love you.”

Selina just ruffled his hair and said, “No problem, kiddo. You take good care of her.”

As he was skipping out of the room, the clicking of Ace’s paws evidence that he was following along, Damian just barely heard Dad say, “A cat, Selina? Really?”

And yes. A cat. _Really._

Maybe if he texted Dick a picture of his new cat, he’d come home. Dick liked cats, right? Probably. He liked Ace a lot, and had always been asking Dad for his own dog. Maybe with another pet in the house, he’d want to be back home.

But no.

Probably not.

For whatever reason, Dick hated Damian now. That had to be why he wasn’t calling anymore. Or texting or anything.

So Damian would leave him alone. Ignore him back.

Damian didn’t need a brother, anyway. He had a new cat. And his dog. And Alfred. And Selina. And maybe Dad, if he started talking to him again.

Yeah. He didn’t need a stupid brother, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's _Batman_ issue upset me, so I wanted happy fluff. Then I remembered that this was kinda angsty because of the whole Dick thing, but at least Bruce isn't being a POS and it has Selina and Damian getting a kitty. So that's fun. Also writing the POV of a 6-year-old was quite fun. 
> 
> I will say, MY Bruce would never do what he did in _Batman_ #71. 
> 
> I still plan on updating on Sunday.


	3. Companion

As Bruce watched Damian skip out of the room, his new cat in his arms and Ace following close behind, he couldn’t find it in him to stop Damian and demand he give _Figaro_ back to Selina.

But that didn’t mean he was happy about the development.

He had been explicitly clear on a number of occasions that Damian _could not have a cat._

“A cat, Selina? Really?” he grumbled as he walked over to the couch and dropped down on it. God, it’d been a long month. And now he would need to research kitten care, because it was highly unlikely Damian had thought about anything beyond ‘play with her’ and ‘feed her.’

She grinned at him and said, “Aw, hush. It’ll be good for him.”

When all he did was shoot her a half-hearted glare, Selina walked over and sat on the couch next to him. “He’s been lonely ever since Dick left.”

That stung, he had to admit. There wasn’t really anything he could do about it, though. Every time he tried to spend time with Damian himself, Damian would throw a fit or pick a fight. He wasn’t accepting Bruce’s company.

Closing his eyes, Bruce leaned his head back and rubbed at his face. He was so exhausted. And Damian was only half his problem. “He needs _friends,_ not a cat.”

But it’s not like Bruce knew any children he could invite over to play with Damian. Jon Kent was the only one, but he was barely 3. He and Damian got along fine, but Jon wasn’t old enough yet for their play to be anything meaningful to Damian.

All the other kids he knew were Dick’s age. And for whatever reason, Damian hadn’t really made friends at school. He was so far advance compared to the other children in his kindergarten class, he didn’t really enjoy the school year. They had decided to skip him ahead to 2nd grade this year. Hopefully he’d find friends, now.

Bruce wasn’t holding his breath for it, though.

With a sweet smile in her voice, Selina asked, “What’s wrong with both?”

“Hrn,” Bruce groaned, deciding to just leave it at that. What was wrong with both, indeed. Damian could use the distraction, he supposed. They could all use a distraction.

Selina shifted on the couch next to him and leaned against his side. After a few minutes of them just sitting there, she asked, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you really?”

“I-” he started, then sighed and rubbed at his face. Of course he _wasn’t_ fine. Dick hated him. What was the point on dwelling on it? He was already seeing his therapist about it. There wasn’t more he could do. “No,” he admitted, with one more, deep sigh.

“Hmm,” was all she said, then sat quietly. Probably just waiting for Bruce to elaborate.

“He uninstalled his tracking app,” Bruce finally said, sitting up to actually look at Selina, “I can still track his phone, obviously, but I have to actually _try._ I- I don’t want to invade his privacy too much. I think that would just make everything worse.”

“But…” Selina said slowly, raising an eyebrow at him.

And Bruce hated how well she knew him.

“But he’s 17. _Barely_ 17\. He should still be at home.”

Dick should be gearing up for his final year of high school. Picking out the colleges he was going to apply for. Debating his majors. _Not_ living in another state with his team, doing hero work full time.

He had plenty of time to be a full time hero _after_ college.

Plenty of time to be an adult, _later._

Bruce wanted to spend one final year with his kid, while he was still a kid.

But now Dick won’t even answer his phone.

“He’ll come around,” Selina said, slipping her arm around Bruce’s as she snuggled her cheek against his bicep, “Just like he always does.”

“God, how did I mess this up so bad?”

Selina started laughing, after a few seconds, and said, “I could get you a cat, too, you know.”

“Selina,” he groaned.

“You know, _I_ have four cats. They are much more fun in multiples.”

“I can barely handle two _kids._ We can’t keep adding pets.”

“Cats aren’t pets, they’re _companions._ ”

“What are kids?”

“Loud.”

At that, Bruce laughed. He actually laughed. But it didn’t last long. Because Damian hadn’t been loud in over a month. For 43 days. Because Damian’s loudness was usually associated with Dick. As he shouted for Dick to come play with him. Yelled at him for cheating on games. Squealed when Dick tickled him. Laughed at jokes Dick told.

Damian hadn’t been loud in far too long.

Now he just sulked around all day, aimlessly wandering the manor.

“Did you get through to him?” Bruce asked, trying to shake the thoughts. School started in a couple weeks. Damian would be fine, once school started.

“He answered. Said he knew what I was doing, but said I could tell you he was fine.”

Bruce smiled, slightly, at that. It was good to know _someone_ had heard his voice recently. Bruce had even resorted to calling Wally West, who had remained loyal to his friend. He did at least give Bruce the same report as Selina. Dick was fine. But Bruce wanted more than that. He wanted to _hear_ his son’s voice.

It’d been too long.

“Have you talked to Karen?” Selina asked, a minute later. And the question almost irritated him. He hated it whenever anyone asked him if he was keeping up with his therapy appointments. _Of course_ he was.

“Of course. I said I would.”

“Well, what did she say?”

“Just keep calling him.”

 _Don’t cut him out,_ had been the real advice. Don’t do anything to make him feel like Bruce stopped caring. He wasn’t supposed to overwhelm him with calls, but he was supposed to leave him short voicemails often, asking after his wellbeing and reminding him of his love.

 _‘He’ll come around,’_ she had said.

Bruce was kind of tired of hearing that phrase. He wanted Dick to be back, now.

“Did she say anything about getting more cats?” Selina asked, shifting her weight so she was leaning back against him, her feet now dangling over the arm of the couch, “I bet she did.”

After snorting out a quiet laugh, Bruce whispered, “I miss him.”

“We all do.”

\- - -

Damian’s bedtime was at 8pm. The bedtime routine usually included reading a chapter of whatever series they were working their way through. _Artemis Fowl,_ most recently, but Damian had called an end to that habit when he started giving Bruce his version of the silent treatment.

Which, Damian’s version of the punishment actually included talking to Bruce quite a lot. He wasn’t very good at not talking. Bruce tried his best not to smile every time Damian forgot he was mad and not talking to him.

But Damian had been reading the next chapter in the book by himself, all in hopes of making Bruce suffer. Because there was nothing _worse_ than not knowing what was going on in their book, obviously.

And every night, Damian made sure Bruce knew _why_ they weren’t reading together.

“I’m mad at you,” Damian said, as soon as Bruce opened the door to see if he’d made it into bed yet.

He had. He was lying in bed, under the cover already, Figaro curled up by his side.

“That’s okay,” Bruce said gently, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed so he wouldn’t disturb the cat. He placed his hand on Damian’s shoulder and squeezed it.

Damian turned onto his side a little more, and frowned up at Bruce. “You are very aggravating.”

Bruce just rubbed at his arm and smiled, saying, “I am, aren’t I?”

That made Damian smile, and he immediately tried to stifle the grin, then said, “You’re not helping.”

Still smiling, Bruce adjusted the blanket over Damian and said, “I love you, Damian.”

“What about Figaro?” Damian asked, as he settled down, pulling the cat with him so he was still hugging onto her, but lying down better.

Said cat was purring, still curled up against Damian’s side. Bruce reached over and stroked her fur a few times as he said, without hesitation, “I love Figaro, too.”

“I can keep her?”

Bruce reached over Damian and retrieved Cow, who was laying forgotten behind Damian and tucked him into the blanket with Damian. “Of course. She’s part of the family now.”

It’s not like Bruce would have been able to take her away, anyway. Besides, she was a tiny little cat, and it would be good for Damian, to have something to take care of. He didn’t do much with Ace, when it came to his care. Ace was a friend. Figaro could be something he was responsible for.

Damian hugged Cow close and smiled. “Is Selina still here?”

“No, she went home.”

“I like Selina.”

“I know you do,” Bruce hummed, smoothing out the blankets. Ready to say goodnight and get moving with patrol.

Even if it would just remind him further that Robin was no longer by his side.

“I don’t like you,” Damian said, jutting his bottom lip out, still hugging Cow close as his other hand scratched at Figaro’s head.

“So you’ve said. But that’s okay, I still love you.” Bruce pushed back Damian’s soft, black hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep tight, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With one more pet to Figaro, Bruce stood to leave the room, but was stopped when Damian grabbed his sleeve and said, “Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going out tonight?” Damian whispered, looking back down at his cat instead of up at Bruce.

“Yeah, bud. Alfred will be downstairs, so call him if you need something.”

Damian nodded slowly, then said, almost too quietly for Bruce to hear, “I love you, too.”

And for whatever reason, that actually made Bruce frown a little. “I know you do, buddy,” he said, taking that step back to Damian’s bed so he could lean over and give him one more goodnight kiss, “I’m happy you do.” he said, leaving his face pressed against Damian’s head a second, “I’ll see you in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Bruce smiled as he ruffled Damian’s hair, then gave Figaro and pet, and Ace, who was laying on the floor by Damian’s door, keeping guard as he did every night.

In the morning, he and Damian would have to do something fun together. Maybe they could go to the zoo. Or go visit Clark. Or even, heaven forbid, go to the pet store. Damian could go nuts buying new toys for Figaro.

Actually, they probably needed to do that anyway.

Perhaps letting him keep the cat would be enough to override the anger over Dick leaving.

Probably not, but a guy could dream. Bruce was going insane with both his kids mad at him.

\- - -

Patrol that night wasn’t particularly interesting. Petty crime kept pulling him closer and closer to Crime Alley, though. And Bruce didn’t particularly like being in Crime Alley. Especially not when he was already upset about other things.

But he was able to push all that aside when he parked his car in the very alley in which his parents had been murdered, over twenty years ago.

And wasn’t that a trip? It’d been 22 years.

Sometimes, it felt like it had just been a day ago. He could still smell rain mixing with blood whenever he entered the alley. Hear the pearls scatter across the concrete. Feel the world crash down around him.

But other days, like that day, he was able to shake it away. Shake it away and remember it had been 22 years. He was an adult now. No longer a helpless little boy. He was _Batman,_ and now he protected helpless little boys, like himself.

Which was what he was there to do that night, by responding to a report of gang activity a couple buildings over where the sounds of screaming had been heard.

Dealing with that had been a lot easier than he expected. It turned out to be _domestic._ A gang member, sure. But domestic abuse. Not actual gang violence. Easy to deal with and easy to clean up. The victim was sent to the hospital to be looked over, and the perpetrator sent to the station to be booked.

It still somehow took an hour of his time, though. And once it was all said and done, it was nearing 3am, and Bruce was pretty ready to head home. Get home and get a bit of sleep so he could get up with Damian.

But when Bruce landed on the roof of one of the buildings bordering Crime Alley and looked down to jump, he had to pause. Because he saw a sight he hadn’t been expecting.

Someone stealing his tires.

 _His_ tires.

The tires right off the Batmobile.

And from the looks of it, it was a _kid._

He wasn’t sure if he was amused or angry, in all honesty.

It took guts, after all, to rob _Batman._ Not that Selina ever shied away from doing such a thing.

But Selina was Selina, and she _knew_ Bruce. Knew he really didn’t care, at the end of the day. When it was him. Or her.

This kid was just a random kid. Did he trust Batman wouldn’t hurt a kid enough to pull such a stunt? Or was he just stupid?

Suicidal?

“Are you… stealing my tires?” Bruce asked, as he silently landed just behind the boy in the alley, now blocking the only exit.

The kid jumped sky high, causing his tire iron to clatter to the ground. He snatched it back up and spun to face Batman, his wide eyes quickly narrowing back down. “No,” he said, with a perfectly blank face. And if Bruce hadn’t just _watched_ this kid get half the tire off, he might have actually believed it.

“You’re not?” he said, though, flatly as he crossed his arms.

“No,” the kid said with conviction, standing to his feet.

Bruce looked the kid up and down. Took in his oversized red sweatshirt. His baggy, and torn, jeans. His old beat up shoes, and the only thing he could describe the kid was as a ‘street kid.’

He hated seeing street kids.

Hated they existed in the first place.

“Then what are you doing?”

The kid scowled, and planted his feet as he snarled, “What’s it to you?”

And Bruce wondered if the act ever fooled anyone. He was clearly terrified, and felt like a cornered animal. With how his eyes kept darting around, trying to find an escape route, and his hand shook a little, gripping onto the tire iron so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Was this how he dealt with the gangs? Put on a false front and fought his way out of scary situations? Who was he even working for?

No one, Bruce hoped. There was nothing worse than children getting caught up with the gangs out of necessity.

Raising an eyebrow, not that the kid could see it through the cowl, Batman said, “Well, my car appears to be missing three tires, and you’re messing with the fourth. I would like to be able to _drive_ my car home, but it won’t make it in that condition.”

“Well maybe,” the kid drawled, matching Bruce’s sarcastic tone, “you shouldn’t have left it alone in an area called _Crime Alley._ ”

Bruce took a step forward, with the intent on looking at his wheels to see if the tire iron had done any damage, but as soon as he moved, the kid made a run for it.

He only made it three steps before Batman effortlessly grabbed the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him back toward the car. The kid seemed to jump from flight to fight, though, and smacked Bruce in the leg with his tire iron, likely as hard as he could.

Because _ow_ did it hurt.

It hit tense muscle, and even through the armor the suit had, Bruce knew it was going to bruise.

Snatching the iron out of the kid’s hand, Bruce tossed it to the side and lifted the kid up into the air.

It was sad, how effortlessly he was able to do that, too. The kid was almost entirely sweatshirt. He was too light for his size. For his age, Bruce was sure he was probably _seriously_ too light. Because he looked 10, and that was being generous.

Really, he was only a few inches taller than Damian, who was tall for his age, of course, but this kid had the voice of an older child. Based on his facial structure and voice, he would have guessed 12 or 13. But the rest of him looked 7.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the kid, but it was clear he needed help.

Food, at the very least.

“What’s your name?” he asked once the kid stopped struggling, still holding him up so he wouldn’t try to run again.

“Fuck you, man,” he snarled, kicking at Bruce to no real effect. He didn’t have the strength or momentum to do any damage, still dangling like he was, “Put me down.”

All Bruce had to do was shake him a little, and he deflated and mumbled, “Jason.”

“Alright, Jason,” Bruce said, nearly dropping his gravel as he smiled a little, “I’m only going to ask you this one time, so think about your answer.”

Jason narrowed his eyes and glowered at Bruce as he spat, “What?”

“Are you hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Kasy, as always, for the beta. <3 <3
> 
> You know, I've actually been wanting to write a "Jason joins the family" Fic for a while, ever since I could only find a few on Ao3. So I'm super excited to be finally doing that. :D


	4. Chance

“I’m going to put you down now. Run off, and I’ll hand you over to the police.”

After quite a bit of grumbling, Batman secured a promise from Jason that he would not try to run. Once set down, Jason crossed his arms and just glared up at Batman. It kind of made Bruce want to smile, his little tough guy act.

Especially since the kid was maybe 4’3”.

“You obviously know how to take tires off, but have you ever put them back on?”

“No,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “Why would I do that? I jack the tires, I sell them, _they_ worry about putting them on cars.”

“All right,” Batman said, his gravel softening the longer he talked to this kid, “Let’s do this together, then.”

“Why would I help you?”

Batman turned to to inspect the kid again, then tilted his head slightly as he asked, “Do you want that food?”

Jason hesitated, took an aborted step forward, then just stared at Batman. “No police?” he finally asked, toying with the sleeve of his hoody.

Raising a hand, as if to swear an oath, Batman said, “Promise.”

Nodding, Jason did finally step forward, within Batman’s reach, and pulled a handful of nuts out of his hoody pocket, holding them out for Batman to take.

“All right,” he said, taking the fasteners, “Do you remember which tire came from where?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That will make life so much easier.”

Bruce walked Jason through putting the tires back on. Not that he needed much help, since putting them on was basically the reverse of taking them off. He just needed help putting the strength required to tighten them to Bruce’s standard.

“How’d you loosen them in the first place?” Bruce asked, when he was able to spin the nut a full rotation further than Jason.

“Kick the iron,” Jason said with a shrug, “legs are stronger than arms.”

“Hmm. Impressive.”

Maybe it was just Bruce’s imagination, but Jason smiled slightly at the compliment, as he kept twisting the next set of nuts on the final tire.

Once all the tires were back on, and Bruce was satisfied none of them would fall off while they drove, he turned to Jason and said, “Alright, hop in. Let’s go.”

Jason took a step back, though, his eyes flitting to the exit of the alley as he said, “Go where?”

“To get your food,” Batman said, opening the door of the Batmobile.

“Can’t we walk?”

Bruce frowned. Jason was toying with his sleeve again, looking about ready to bolt, if he could get away with it. Whatever this kid had been through to make him this wary of people. This wary of _Batman,_ whom he had always hoped young, innocent children would be able to trust, made Bruce want to… he wasn’t sure.

Figure out who had dropped the ball and let this kid be on the street, in the first place.

Not that any of the street kids were simply “let” out on the street. Batman knew they were mostly run-aways.

What had this kid run away from?

“I don’t walk down the street, if I can help it,” Batman said, trying to drop his shoulders and relax his posture some, “it just invites trouble.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, though, seeming to see right through Bruce’s attempts. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jason took another step back and glared. “I don’t get into people’s cars.”

A sound policy, Bruce supposed. A heartbreaking one, for sure, for a kid of however-old Jason was—10ish—to have. Had he learned that from experience or…

Bruce shook his head, then took a step toward Jason and knelt down. Jason kept out of his reach, still, but that was okay. He wasn’t going to push this kid. If he ran off right this second, he wouldn’t chase him. Maybe keep tabs on him while he figured out how to help him off the streets, but he wouldn’t do anything to scare him further.

This kid needed help. Not a criminal record.

After pulling a batarang out of his belt, Batman held it out for Jason and said, “Take it. Keep it.”

“Why?” Jason said hesitantly as he slowly pulled the item out of Bruce’s hands.

“Careful with it,” Bruce said, leaning forward to guide Jason’s hand to the proper way to hold it, “That one is sharp. Hit the button here and the blades will pop out.”

Jason jumped, slightly, when he opened the blades, then smiled. “Cool.”

“And this,” Bruce said, guiding Jason’s hand through the proper motion, “is how you collapse it back. This one is sharp enough to get through my suit and cut me.”

“You’d just give me this?” Jason asked, crinkling his nose at Batman.

Bruce put his arm down on his knee and asked, “Does it make you feel safer getting into my car?”

“Not really,” Jason said, even as he looked over at the car, instead of back toward the alley exit again, “You’ve got like 200 pounds on me, dude.”

“Jason. I promise, I’m just trying to help you.”

“Remember,” Jason said, as he slowly walked toward the passenger side, “you promised no cops.”

“No cops,” Batman agreed. Bruce, however, was thinking about maybe social services. Dick’s social worker had always been great. Maybe he could call her up and get her on Jason’s case.

\- - -

They got burgers, at Jason’s request.

Bruce wasn’t averse to fast food. He’d had it several times, usually at the request of Dick. But Jason could clearly use the calories, so Bruce got him a large burger with a ton of fries _and_ a regular coke. All while hoping the kid had eaten enough recently that it wouldn’t shock his system and make him sick.

He drove to the top of the hill, right between Gotham and Bristol, so they could look out over the city and have an actual conversation, without worrying about people hearing or seeing them. Jason seemed more focused on drinking his soda than his surroundings, because he didn’t make a single comment about leaving the city.

“How old are you?” Bruce finally asked, just as he was parking the car and gathering up the bags of food so they could eat it out in the grass. Or perhaps sitting on the car.

“Thirteen,” Jason said, just as he slurped up the rest of his soda and opened his own door.

Bruce stuck the straw in his own drink and handed it to Jason, who had climbed up on the hood of the car, eagerly opening up the bag of food Bruce had set next to him. “Thirteen,” he repeated as he sat next to the kid, “Does anyone ever buy that?”

“Fine,” Jason mumbled through a mouthful of french fries, “I’m elev- wait. What’s today’s date?”

“August 20th.”

“I’m _twelve,”_ Jason declared, smiling widely as he shoved another five fries in his mouth.

“Slow down,” Bruce said a few minutes later, once Jason had unwrapped his burger and started absolutely devouring it, “You’ll choke, or make yourself sick if you keep going that fast.”

“Sorry. This is the closest to home cooking I’ve had in, well, a while.”

“Where have you been staying?”

“You know you aren’t doing the voice thingy?” Jason said instead, talking through a mouthful of burger, “you sound like a normal guy, it’s kinda weird.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me a ‘normal guy,’” Bruce said, smiling as he took a bite of his own burger.

“Well, you gotta be fucking weird to dress up like a bat and punch people all night.”

“That’s one way to put it. So, where have you been living?”

Jason sighed, hunching his shoulders over a little more as he mumbled, “Here or there. Wherever I can find.”

Bruce frowned at that, and just focused on the city for a bit while he and Jason finished eating their meals. Jason much quicker than Bruce.

He needed to figure this out. Jason couldn’t just sleep _wherever._ It wasn’t safe. And Bruce felt responsible for this kid, now. If he just dropped him off in Crime Alley, it would be his fault if he got murdered. Or kidnapped. Or forced into a gang. Or forced into worse…

But what do people do with homeless children? Other than turn them over to the police?

Where had he run from, to get here? Where were his parents?

“You know,” Jason said eventually, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts, “I been out this way before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. Was looking for Bruce Wayne’s house. Wanted to case the place, but I got lost.”

“Why do you think it’s okay to steal from people?”

“You kidding?” Jason scoffed, blowing his bangs out of his face, “People like Bruce Wayne, like the ones I steal from? Who cares. It’s not like they’d miss a few watches.”

“Or their tires?”

“Pfft,” Jason huffed, but he smiled slightly as he said, “Shouldn’t park a nice car in Crime Alley. Just asking for trouble.”

“And the people like Bruce Wayne,” he said, motioning with his head toward Bristol, “with their houses over there, far away from Crime Alley. What about them?”

“Maybe they deserve it,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “I see how they look at people like me. Right down their noses, like they’re _better.”_

 _“_ You know, sometimes you just have to give people a chance. They’ll usually surprise you.”

That left Jason silent for a long while. And the entire time, Bruce fought with himself over what he was going to do.

On the one hand, he could just drop Jason off at the police station. Go against his own promise to get the boy help. But there had to be a reason he wanted to avoid cops and, he suspected, social workers. Maybe he had a really terrible one.

Or maybe he’d been placed into a bad home, and was afraid he’d be sent back. Or even worse. He’d just run away from his actual home, his real parents.

His other option was to help Jason a little more personally.

How Alfred would respond to that? Dick or Damian?

Even if it were just for a few days while he got ahold of Dick’s old social worker and helped her place Jason into a nicer home. Or put together a case against his parents to have him removed. Whatever it is that needed to be done. How would everyone take him bringing a kid home?

It was not permanent. He’d have to stress that, so no one got too upset by it.

But he’d have to tell Jason who he was. It’d be weird, otherwise, to just drop him off at Bruce Wayne’s house. And based on his fear of getting into a stranger’s car, Bruce wasn’t about to make him think he was being given as a favor to a man he already did not hold very highly in his head.

“Can you take me back now?” Jason asked, long after he’d pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his head on his knees.

“Actually,” Bruce said, making the decision, “How would you like to spend the night at my place?”

Jason clenched his teeth and cut his eyes over at Bruce, an actually… really cute pout on his face. Which was a ridiculous thing to think about a 12-year-old he’d just met. But facts were facts.

“I’m not a whore,” Jason said flatly, daring Bruce with his eyes to deny the accusation.

Bruce did, of course. “And I’m not a pedophile.”

“Sure,” he said, with a dramatic eye roll “I seen what Robin use-ta wear.”

At that, Bruce laughed, allowing a fond smile on his face, despite the cowl still being snugly in place. “My son. His fashion choices are… questionable. He really liked leotards as a kid.”

“Uh huh.”

“Look,” Bruce said, turning to face Jason completely, “I get you don’t trust me. Trust is something that has to be earned, in both directions. But if you trust me enough to come with me, I’ll trust you enough to know my name.”

Jason’s eyes opened a little wider as he said, “Why would you do that?”

“I want to help you,” Bruce said as he slid off the car hood and packed up all the trash, “I can tell you’re a good kid who’s been dealt a terrible hand. I can offer you a way out, so why wouldn’t I?”

“How would you do that?”

Bruce smiled as Jason unfolded, and said, “I’ve got money and pull. I can help get you into a better place. A better foster home, school, something. We can discuss the details tomorrow. If nothing else, it’s a safe place to sleep and a hot breakfast in the morning.”

“So,” Jason said slowly, “I’d just be a charity case.”

“No, Jason, not charity.”

Jason hopped off the car and glowered. “Well, if it ain’t charity, what is it? What are you expecting from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Jason deadpanned, “You expect me to believe that?”

“You’re a kid, Jason,” Bruce said, opening the driver’s door and leaning against it, “You shouldn’t have to earn the basic necessities in life. I can afford to feed you, so why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, because it’s fucking weird? This is Gotham and no one _does_ that?”

Smiling, Bruce said, “I seem to recall being called ‘fucking weird’ earlier.” When Jason didn’t even smile at Bruce’s language, he sighed and said more solemnly, “I want to see Gotham change. I want this city to be great, to be a city the rest of the nation is proud of. A city _we_ can be proud of. That’s something that has to change one person at a time.”

“Oh so I’m just a pawn in your mission,” he huffed, crossing his arms and looking off toward the city.

“No, you’re a child I see promise in. A kid with a bright future ahead of him, if someone just gives him a chance.”

Jason eventually looked away from the city, and Bruce caught the briefest spark in Jason’s eyes. The tiniest moment of hope, quickly drowned out by the disbelief and unease. By the anxiety of trusting a complete stranger with his life.

And Bruce’s heart just plummeted further into his stomach. He was going to research the hell out whatever home he picked for Jason.

“If you want out at any point, Jay, you can have out. I promise.”

“You’re not a pedophile,” Jason asked, as he made his way over to the passenger side of the car.

“I have a girlfriend,” he supplied. He was pretty sure he and Selina were currently ‘on.’ Why _else_ would he have let her just give Damian a cat? “An _adult_ girlfriend. I’m not interested in children or boys.”

Jason opened the door and said through the car, “That’s what they all say.”

“Coming?” Bruce asked, as he slipped in and shut his door.

“I shouldn’t be trusting you.”

“And society says I shouldn’t trust you, but sometimes you just have to give people a chance.”

“And they’ll surprise you?” Jason said, as he sat down and looked at Bruce, almost warily, “This is really, really stupid. You could be a murderer and you’re driving me to my death.”

Bruce just looked at Jason expectantly. After a moment of hesitation, Jason took a deep breath and shut his own door.

“Fasten your seatbelt, kiddo,” Bruce said, grinning as he started the engine, “I like to drive fast.”

“Awesome,” Jason whispered, as Bruce did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only 19 minutes late. 😆
> 
> I don't know if this will actually have 15 chapters or if it'll be more. 15 is the guess right now. My plan for this story actually changed completely this week. I kind of realized something that needed to happen for it all to fit together better, and that made everything I'd had written for future chapters completely worthless, BUT I think the story is much better now. So there's that. Still on the same weekly schedule, I'll just have to be doing a little extra work for each chapter now. Haha Oh well. I'm excited. 
> 
> How'd you guys like this chapter? I'd love to hear thoughts. Obviously I based some of the conversation on RHATO (2016) #1, because I really love that origin story. 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	5. Decision

Jason wasn’t sure what to think.

Batman was…. He wasn’t sure.

This entire situation was just _weird._ But the car was nice. Like, really, really nice. And it drove so smooth. Jason would be one gigantic liar if he said he wasn’t having a blast, driving probably 100 down the express way.

Toward…

Bristol.

And Batman was murmuring to someone called “ _A”_ about setting up a room. And getting clothes too big for “Little D” for Jason to sleep in.

Which.. Was something he was not thinking about. Because who was “Little D?” Was he… another kid? Did Batman take kids home regularly? Or was this Robin?

Couldn’t be Robin. Robin was a teenager. He was pretty sure. Had to be another kid.

Batman hadn’t given Jason any weird vibes. And Jason prided himself in his excellent judge of character. He could _tell_ if someone was of the less-than-savory variety. Batman hadn’t triggered any alarms in him.

Aside from saying “hey come sleep at my house,” of course. Because that was a fucking weird thing for an adult to say to some random kid.

But, but, he seemed nice. His body language all seemed to match. Right? He didn’t have that creeper look about him.

_You haven’t even seen his eyes, you idiot._

Yep. He was fine. This was fine.

Eventually, Batman turned off the road and into what, at first glance, appeared to look like solid rock, but turned out to be a hidden entrance to some sort of tunnel.

And now they were underground, in the dark, far away from Gotham.

It would be _really_ easy for him to murder Jason and dispose of his body. Right down here in the cave.

Sure, no one had ever heard anything about Batman killing random kids. But that either meant that Batman _didn’t_ murder children or he was really _really_ good at it.

When Batman reached up and tugged at his stupid mask thing, Jason’s breath caught. Because it was happening. This was happening and there was no turning back. Like _hell_ would Batman let him live after knowing who he was. Or go.

Jason.. Jason should get out. He should shut his eyes tight, not look, and demand to be let out. Batman _said_ Jason could have out at any point. He wanted fucking out _now._

But when Jason turned to tell Batman just that, he froze.

Because Batman looked like…. A normal guy. Just a normal dude. He smiled kind of awkwardly, and looked nervous and unsure about himself, but that was it. There was no mean in his eyes. No creepy in his smile, and no scary on his face.

He…he…

Okay.

Jason could do this. Probably. For a night.

Just a night. He’d said a night and breakfast.

It was supposed to rain that night. That’s what the air smelled like, at least. So sleeping inside in an actual bed would be nice.

Yeah.

“You can call me Bruce,” Batman was saying, and that’s when Jason realized he hadn’t been paying any attention.

“Bruce” he repeated, squinting, as if doing so would help him see better. To understand why Batman-Bruce was looking at him so weird. Like Jason should be freaking out about now, or something. _Recognize_ him.

Nodding, Bat-Bruce said, “Yes. Of course, you know that’s a secret. I am trusting you not to tell anyone.”

“Sure,” Jason said, because what else was there to say? Some dude named ‘Bruce’ was Batman. Cool. Like that helped in identifying him, anyway.

“Alfred is getting you a room set up. If you’re still hungry, he can get you something more to eat before bed, too.”

“I’m good,” Jason said, turning his head back down to stare at his sleeves. The ones he’d picked to death. It was a miracle he hadn’t completely unraveled the entire sweatshirt. “Who’s Alfred?”

“My butler”

Batman had a butler. _Bruce_ had a butler…. and lived in Bristol. And was ‘rich’ with ‘pull.’ And Jason was a complete and total idiot.

Because Batman was Bruce _Wayne._

And he’d just admitted to trying to rob him not too long ago. After _actually_ robbing him.

Shit.

Jacking Batman’s tires was probably the dumbest mistake of his entire life.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, then said a little louder, trying his best to sound not at all scared, “Is this because I said I wanted to case you, because I was just jokin’,” after a moment, he added, “I probably couldn’t a got past your security, anyway. With you being Batman and all.”

Bruce smiled, and it helped ease Jason a little. Because it was _amused,_ not mean. “I’m sure a lot of people try to case me. I don’t hold it against you.”

Jason wanted to respond, but the light from outside the car changed, causing him to look up to see why. They had finally exited the dark tunnels and entered…. A brightly lit cave.

“This is the Batcave,” Bruce said and it took Jason a minute to be able to answer.

The ‘Batcave’ was fucking awesome. He wasn’t sure what to look at first, because there was a dinosaur. And a giant penny! 

Batcave was a stupid name, though.

“Why do you have a dinosaur?” he asked, for lack of anything else to fill the silence that had stretched on too long.

“I got it from Dinosaur Island,” Bruce said, with a completely straight face.

“Right.” Because _that_ answered his question.

After they came to a stop in the center of the cave, Jason hesitated as Bruce got out, but slowly pushed open his own door and stood.

“Okay, I have to go change out of this before we can go upstairs. Feel free to look around, but be smart. Don’t press buttons or mess with anything. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Sure,” Jason said, trying not to seem over eager about being given free rein of the _Batcave._

“There are security cameras in here,” Bruce added, “just so you are aware.”

Jason stuffed his hands into his hoody pocket, gripping onto the neat knife Batman had given him out as he said, “What? Are you afraid I’m going to steal something?”

“Hm,” Bruce said, tapping at a computer for a second before he turned to the ‘changing area,’ Jason assumed, “Just afraid you’ll touch dangerous things, thinking you’ll get away with it.”

“Me? Touch things that don’t belong to me?”

Bruce grunted, but he was smiling as he walked off, further into the depths of the cave.

As he walked around the cave, looking at the various pieces of equipment, Jason pulled out the neat knife and started twirling it. He was pretty sure they were called _batarangs._ Which was another dumb name. Did Batman put ‘bat’ in front of all his stuff?

“Bat-o-cycle,” he said aloud as he was looking at the motorcycles, “bat-cycle?”

“Batbike,” he decided, while he was inspecting one that didn’t have a gas tank. What did it run off of?

“We just call it a motorcycle,” Bruce said, causing Jason to jump and drop the batarang, “Robin was over his ‘bat’ naming phase by the time I built those.”

“Sure, blame it on the kid,” Jason mumbled, as he picked his batarang up, “This one doesn’t run on gas?”

The way Bruce smiled at him for _that_ comment made Jason feel…. Something. Pride? Was it pride? Why would he be proud of himself for getting that reaction? He ducked his head and turned back around so Bruce couldn’t see his cheeks heat a little.

“It’s a steam-powered bike. I haven’t quite figured it out, but I’m close.”

“That’s so cool. What produces the steam? How is that powered? Trains use coal, right? Do you use a battery?”

Bruce set a hand on Jason’s shoulder and gently turned him away from the bike and toward the stairs on the far side of the cave. “I’ll be happy to walk you through it tomorrow, but it’s nearing 5 and we should probably both get some sleep.”

“Right,” he said, toying with the batarang in his pocket again. He didn’t usually let people touch him, and Bruce still had a hand on his back as he led them to the stairs. The butterflies were back in his stomach, and it took a lot of him to stay calm and keep walking smoothly.

Maybe Bruce caught on, though, because he removed his hand and said, “Alfred set up your room and went on to bed. He has to get up earlier than I do to deal with Damian, so you’ll meet him in the morning.”

At the top of the stairs, they walked through a thin corridor, which took them straight into an office, it looked like. When Jason turned to see Bruce close the door, he saw that one of those old big clock things was acting as the door. He’d heard of hiding stuff behind bookshelves, but never clocks. That was pretty cool.

Jason trailed along behind Bruce through the halls of this _massive_ mansion. He was trying his best to pay attention to where they were going so he could build a map of it in his head, but he kept getting distracted by the ridiculous amount of decorations. Paintings everywhere. Fancy rugs, random ass knickknacks on shelves.

There was a _ton_ of shit he could easily take. The problem arose when trying to decide if anyone would _buy_ it. He had no doubt the ugly vases were expensive, but no pawn shop he knew of would want one. Only rich people bought crap like this.

It was while he was staring at a particularly neat looking painting of Gotham’s skyline did he bump right into Bruce’s outstretched arm, where he’d held it out to stop Jason.

His stomach churned again as he looked up at Bruce, but Bruce wasn’t looking at him, he was looking down the hall at a partially cracked open door.

“I need to introduce you to our dog, or he’ll be a jerk as we walk past Damian’s room,” Bruce whispered, before whisper-shouting, “Ace, here boy,” followed quickly by a whistle.

Jason stiffened when he heard the jingle of a collar and then the sound of a massive dog opening the door completely. The dog took not even half a second to notice Jason, and started running full speed down the hall.

Bruce pushed Jason behind him a little more as he knelt down, then effortlessly caught the dog in a weird hug-like thing, spinning so he was behind the dog, but holding on securely so ‘Ace’ couldn’t get to Jason. “Ace, this is Jason. He’s a friend,” Bruce said, patting at Ace’s head.

Ace wasn’t growling, so Jason wasn’t too afraid, but he did take a step back just in case.

He knew that dogs were pretty dangerous. He’d been chased by enough of them in his life to know to give dogs a wide berth when wandering the streets. And this dog looked like a pretty mean guard dog. He might not be okay with some piece of street trash wandering his house.

But Ace sat and started wagging his tail, and Bruce held a hand out and motioned for Jason to get closer and let the dog sniff his hand.

Ace tried to stand up once he’d smelled Jasons hand for a second, but Bruce didn’t allow it, so he ended up just licking at Jason’s hand. With a slight smile, Jason moved his hand to the top of the dog’s head, and was pleased to be allowed to pet Ace without him trying to bite his hand off.

That’s when Bruce slowly let go of Ace, only for Ace to leap at Jason, trying to get to his face. Hopefully to lick it, and not bite it off. Whatever he was trying to do startled Jason, and he stepped backward quickly.

“No,” Bruce hissed, grabbing onto Ace’s collar and yanking him back harshly, “Down.”

Jason let Ace sniff at his shirt, and hesitantly pet him again as Ace rubbed his face up against Jason’s clothes.

“He’s claiming you,” Bruce said, just watching Ace being fucking weird, “he’s trying to get you to smell right. He’ll do that again after you take a shower or put on clean clothes.”

“Okay,” Jason said, because he wasn’t sure how else to react to a dog about half his size being so close.

“In the morning,” Bruce said, motioning for them to keep going down the hall, his voice a near whisper as they approached the room Ace had come out of, “open your door slowly, to just a crack. He might bark for a second before he remembers who you are. Just keep your door between you and him and let him smell your hand again, he’ll calm down as soon as he recognizes it’s you.”

“Will he attack me if I don’t?” Jason asked, and he hated how his voice squeaked a little at the end.

“No, no,” Bruce said quickly, “but he might scare you and I don’t want that.”

“He’s a good dog,” Bruce said, kneeling down to pet Ace’s head, both his hands messing with Ace’s ears, “We got him to guard Damian and he does a good job. But he’s a giant teddybear to those he knows. Now that he knows you, he’ll be fine around you.”

Jason just nodded as he watched Bruce point for Ace to go back into the room he’d come from. _Damian’s_ room, he realized. Because inside there was a little kid, snuggled up under blankets, fast asleep.

He wasn’t sure if the presence of another kid made it easier to sleep in this house or not.

“This is my room,” Bruce said, tapping on the French doors across from Damian’s, “If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

Bruce opened the door to the room next to Damian’s and flipped on the light, then held his arm out for Jason to enter first.

Toying with his batarang again, Jason stepped into the room and looked around. Then just paused there, right in the doorway, staring.

His frozen body made Bruce step around him to get inside, and he went and opened one of the two doors against the wall that Jason assumed would be shared with Damian’s room. But apparently not, because inside that door was a freaking _bathroom._ Right in the bedroom.

“You’ll probably be more comfortable if you take a shower,” Bruce said, “you’ll find towels and soap in stuff in there, if you want. But that’s up to you. Alfred got you some clothes that should fit you,” he pointed toward a pile of clean pajamas sitting on the dresser, next to a pile of clean day clothes, “Alfred will wash the clothes you’re wearing, if you want.”

Jason just kept standing there, right in the doorway, trying to make his brain start working again.

This room was _huge._ Probably as big as his entire apartment, back when he lived with his mom. There was a gigantic bed, way too big for any person, much less a kid like him. A desk, a _couch._ And quite a bit of storage furniture, like three bookshelves. All of it empty. He guessed most people who stay in here are rich and can’t travel without their entire book collections.

That sounded like something ridiculous rich people would do.

“Well, do you need anything else?”

With probably too-wide-eyes, Jason finally looked at Bruce and shook his head once. He didn’t need all of _this._ What else could he possibly need?

“You know where I am if you need me. Breakfast is at 9:30. Someone will come get you if you’re not up yet. If you wake up earlier,” Bruce said, pointing at a clock on the nightstand, “feel free to explore. If you go down the stairs we came up and turn left at the bottom, there’s a library, family room, and art room down that hall. The kitchen is to the right of the stairs.”

_A library._

This house had a _library._

There had to be a catch to all this. People weren’t just _nice_ like this, giving random street rats access to their shit without supervision. Without expecting _something_ in return.

“Good night, Jason,” Bruce said, slipping past again to leave the room, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bruce shut the door on his way out, and Jason immediately zeroed into the fact there was a lock on the door. After turning that, he looked back at the bathroom and considered taking a shower.

Did he _really_ want to do that? In a basically-stranger’s house? Where literally no one would be able to help him, if all this ended up being a magnificent front? Bruce seemed like a genuinely nice guy, but he could just be a good actor. He was Batman, after all.

That kid seemed to be sleeping pretty peacefully, though. And there was the dog. Dogs protected people, right?

_He won’t protect you, you idiot. He’ll side with his owner._

But…. He hadn’t had a real shower in… way too long. The last time social services caught him and forced him into a foster home.

That’d been a year ago.

He’d been cleaning himself up in public bathrooms, whenever he could sneak into one without the owner catching him and trying to chase him off.

 _This_ promised to be a real, _hot,_ shower. He could finally get his hair clean and probably tease out the tangles. He might as well. If he only had one night here, now was his chance. And it’s not like he’d sleep very long, anyway. He hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time in at least a year.

As the hot water massaged his scalp, Jason felt himself relax just slightly. He was able to close his eyes and breathe deeply, just savoring the feeling of hot water relaxing his muscles.

The longer his doors stayed locked, and the outside his room stayed quiet, the more he was allowing himself to believe this was real.

Maybe stealing Batman’s tires was the _best_ decision he’d ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who leaves me feedback on Tumblr when I post random snippets. Y'all really help me out, especially with motivation. <3


	6. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Jason finally meet!

Jason woke up just after 8am, to no surprise to himself. He was actually amazed he got to sleep as easily as he did, being in a stranger’s home and all. Sleeping in a stranger’s bed.

The pajamas ‘Alfred’ gave him were really comfortable. Clean and cozy, made better by the soft blankets and comfortably firm mattress and pillows. He actually didn’t want to get up, once he woke up. 

But…

The idea of having someone come get him from this room was kind of scary. And there was a library, Bruce had said. The library sounded safer. More comfortable to have adults come find him in. Especially if it was this ‘Alfred’ guy who came to get him for breakfast. 

He hadn’t even _met_ Alfred yet. No telling what he was like. 

Maybe Alfred was really the one Jason should be concerned about. 

The thought made Jason’s stomach twist a little. He kind of hated himself for being won over by the promise of food. He’d just had a burger, a shit ton of fries, and two large cokes. That was enough calories to keep him going for days. He didn’t _need_ more food. 

Now he’d possibly backed himself into a corner. 

Great.

Tossing the blankets off himself, Jason slid to the floor and looked forlornly at his neatly folded clothes. He’d put them like that on the dresser because he felt bad just throwing them on the ground in this nice, clean room. And the thought of putting them in the clean sheets with him, so he could keep them close, was even worse. 

He _really_ didn’t want to get dressed back into dirty clothes. Not after that amazing shower and sleeping so nice. But he _also_ didn’t want to get dressed into the jeans and t-shirt Alfred had pulled for him. They looked stiff and uncomfortable, both being brand new. His pajamas were new, too, he was pretty sure, but they were made out of soft cotton. And the shirt had long sleeves. 

With a shrug, he slipped completely off the bed and trotted over to the dresser, so he could grab the new pair of socks and put them on. Then, after shoving the batarang and all his money into his pocket, $8 in bills and $1.35 in coins, he slowly opened the door, Bruce’s warning echoing around in his head.

No dog came running. 

Which really just put him on edge, as he stepped out into the hall and looked up and down it. Would Ace attack him while coming down the stairs? 

Walking past Damian’s room revealed it to be empty, which meant that at least Damian was awake already. And Ace was probably with him. Which just made it worse, didn’t it? If the dog thought he was threatening Damian specifically, and wasn’t just passively in the manor.

And probably Alfred was awake, then, too. Bruce said Alfred got up with Damian. 

Maybe he should just stay in his room until an adult came to get him. 

Jason _hated_ this. 

He should have never gotten into Batman’s car. What was _wrong_ with him? He knew better than that. Getting into cars was how you got yourself kidnapped and murdered. _Everyone_ knew that.

Regardless of his brain trying to talk sense into him, Jason made his way to the staircase. 

Assuming he lived and got away, he would never have the chance to case this place again. He might even get away with stealing a watch or something. Although if Wayne really was just a well-intentioned creeper, and he let Jason go after feeding him again, he’d feel a little bad about robbing him. 

As soon as Jason hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned to the left, and froze in his spot. 

Because there was an old guy staring at him. An old guy in a suit, at that. 

Butlers were real. 

Who knew?

“Ah, good morning, young sir,” the man said, in the most British accent Jason had heard in his entire life, “You must be the young Mr…”

And the way Alfred, he was assuming, raised an eyebrow at him, made Jason shrink down a little. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to realize Alfred was asking for his last name, but as soon as he did, he straightened and said, “Uh, it’s Todd. Jason Todd.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, young Mr. Todd. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” 

At that, Alfred stuck his hand out for Jason to shake, so Jason hesitantly took it and said, “Hi, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Alfred smiled nicely at Jason, and took a step back after they shook hands. “Breakfast will be in an hour,” he said, stepping to the side so Jason could walk past if he wanted, “but I’ll be happy to get you a little something now, if you are hungry.”

“No,” Jason said quickly, not wanting to overstep and possibly make Wayne angry. Bruce had said breakfast, not extra random snacks for no reason. 

Besides, he _wasn’t_ hungry. Not really. Well, he could eat, and his stomach definitely had room for food, but he wouldn’t be really _actually_ hungry for a couple days. Not after all that food last night. 

“No thanks, sir. I was- I was just looking for the library Mr. Wayne said was down here?”

Jason’s hand twitched for the batarang in his pocket, but he kept his hands at his sides as he watched Alfred. Because Alfred had tilted his head a little at Jason’s admission, one of his eyebrows raising as he carefully considered Jason. 

It was unnerving. 

Would Alfred refuse to allow him in the library? 

That would make sense, actually. Who would want street trash in their personal, private library? That was why rich people _had_ their own libraries, right? To avoid the riffraff? So they could read books not tainted by the lower class.

He _hated_ the rich. Why did he even entertain the mere idea that Bruce was different, just because he was Batman?

Batman was beating up on the lower class, after all. Jason didn’t see him attacking his fellow socialites for _running_ the criminal empires that employed so many from Crime Alley, now did he?

Jason felt the frown settle on his face, even as Alfred offered a gentle smile. 

“It is the double doors on the left there,” Alfred said, pointing to the only door on that side of the hallway, “feel free to look at anything you want. Those books don’t get _near_ enough use, I’m afraid.”

Trying to match Alfred’s smile, Jason nodded and thanked him, then shuffled on down the hall so he could slip into the library as quickly as possible. 

And upon laying eyes on the beautiful sight that was the Wayne library, Jason forgot all about his anxieties. 

Because the library wasn’t just a room with a few bookshelves, or even just a lot of bookshelves. This room had more books than the small branch of the Gotham Public Library system Jason liked to frequent near Park Row. 

That library had always been one of Jason’s favorite places to go. He didn’t have time, often, anymore, but when he did it always felt like escaping. No one bothered anyone in the library. 

It was a safe haven, almost, for anyone to go and relax for a few hours. As long as they didn’t cause a scene or destroy property, the librarians let anyone in, regardless of age or appearance. Jason hadn’t had a library card in _years,_ either, but that never mattered to them. He’d been allowed to sit and read a book in peace for as long as he wanted. 

And sure, the place wasn’t super clean. But it was still comfortable. Comfortable and _safe._

Probably one of the few places…. the only place Jason felt safe, anymore. 

This room looked just like the Beast’s library in _Beauty and the Beast._

Just like it. 

And it radiated the feeling of cozy, too. Just like a library should.

It made Jason feel like he was in a fairy tale.

Slowly, he made his way around the room, fingers hovering just beyond the spines as he took in the hundreds of titles he was passing. Amazingly, impressively, the book collection appeared to be cataloged. Each book had a label on it, with real actual call numbers. There was probably a card catalog somewhere. Or maybe a digital one.

They were using the Library of Congress Classification System, too. Jason had never seen that system used in person before, only read about it. Usually only academic libraries used it, and Gotham University was a little outside his normal stomping ground. Plus, he’d be kicked out in a heartbeat if he tried to browse the stacks there. 

What could a street rat _possibly_ want on a college campus, anyway? Student’s backpacks. That’s all any of the security would be thinking. 

Most of the library seemed to be non-fiction, with a heavy focus in the social sciences and psychology. It was fascinating. So many related books, all dealing with humans and human behavior. 

But after browsing for a few minutes, he made his way over to the “P” section, which would be literature, if he remembered right, and found that half the library was made up of it. 

Jason was _delighted_ to find dozens upon dozens of books he’d never even heard of, all sitting right alongside some of his favorites. 

He plucked one of his very favorite books off a shelf almost out of his reach, which was just great. Because this room was two stories high. One would need a ladder to reach most the higher shelves. _And there was a ladder._ One of those fancy ones that rolled along a track at the top. 

But Jason didn’t need it, he was just able to pull _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ off the shelf himself before he retreated to one of the plushy couches in the center of the room. He’d read this book probably a dozen times. It was one of his favorites. Short. Easy to read. Almost memorized by him. Exactly what he wanted out of a book that morning, because the idea of starting a book and never getting to finish it just made his heart sad.

Yes, hearts could get sad. When it came to unfinished books. 

Jason was about sixty pages into the book, his legs curled up in front of him so he could prop the book against them, his head resting against the back of the couch, when the library door slammed open, making Jason jump and nearly drop the book. 

The next thing Jason saw had him scrambling to try and sit up, but the stupid dog was way too fast. 

That stupid dog that was probably going to kill Jason, since he didn’t have a door to keep between them. 

Before Jason could do more than straighten out his legs, Ace had run across the room and leapt up on the couch, tail wagging furiously as he basically climbed on top of Jason to…

Lick his face.

And that’s when he finally registered that the dog hadn’t once barked. Or growled. Or done anything remotely threatening, since the door opened so suddenly. 

Pushing at Ace’s body, Jason tried his best to free himself from the dog, but couldn’t. And the more excited Ace got, the more relieved Jason felt. And after a couple seconds, he started laughing along with his constant stream of, “Ace, down. Ace stop it. Ace!” Because the dog would not _stop_ licking his face. What was with that, anyway? Why were dogs so weird? 

“Ace,” a new voice said, and Jason could feel the ice start to creep in, because he realized the voice was _very_ young. Like. Little kid young. “Ace, what are you doing?” the voice cried again, this time outraged. 

Jason pushed Ace off him just enough to sit up so he could look over, and saw who must be Damian Wayne standing in the doorway, dressed up like a pirate. 

Because of course he was. 

He was a spoiled little rich kid, after all. Why _wouldn’t_ he run around dressed up for no damn reason? He probably had hundreds of costumes, Jason was sure. 

Where he was from, most kids didn’t even have a single halloween costume, much less just random stuff to dress up in for fun. The last halloween Jason had participated in, which had been when he was _four,_ he’d worn one of his dad’s button down shirts with a tie. He was a ‘business man,’ his mom had said. So cute and mature looking.

His dad had gotten pissed he got fruit punch on his shirt, upon returning home that night.

Jason had never wanted to dress up again after that. 

“Ace, stop it,” Damian whined again, stomping into the room, “That’s not what you’re supposed to do when we have an intruder!”

“Get off me,” Jason said, pushing at Ace as hard as he could. The dog finally got the message and hopped down, but stayed hovering, trying his best to get his head right under Jason’s hands. 

“Identify yourself, trespasser,” Damian said, after drawing his wooden sword from his belt and pointing it at Jason.

Scowling at the stupid sword, Jason snapped, “I’m not a trespasser.”

Damian stepped closer, getting the sword right within Jason’s reach and said, “Then what are you doing here? How’d you get in here? And how’d you buy Ace over?”

Jason smacked the sword out of his face and said, perhaps a little too harshly, “Your dad kidnapped me, and your dog met me last night.”

Seemingly unfazed, Damian just repositioned his sword, right back in Jason’s face, and said, “My father does not kidnap children. Try again, the truth this time.”

Ace ran off, out the room, apparently bored of them. Which was weird, because Jason had been under the impression that Ace stayed by Damian’s side, always.

“Are you really threatening me with a wooden sword,” Jason deadpanned, “You don’t even know who you’re dealing with.”

“Answer the question!”

“Damian,” a new voice snapped, causing both Jason and Damian to jump. 

Damian’s flinch was a lot less pronounced than Jason’s, though, and he quickly turned to face Bruce, who had apparently entered the library so silently not even Jason noticed. Even with Ace trailing along right behind him, pushing his head against Bruce’s hand. 

“Dad! This boy-”

“What did I tell you,” Bruce interrupted, crossing the room to stand in front of Damian so he could snatch the sword from his hands, “about pointing your weapons at people?”

“You said not to point my toy guns at people,” Damian said, actually crossing his arms and _pouting_ up at Bruce, “you said nothing about my swords.”

“No pointing any of your toy weapons at people,” Bruce said firmly, giving Damian a _look,_ “or I’ll take them all away and you’ll have to make new toys out of paper and crayons.”

“ _Dad,”_ Damian whined, before he corrected himself and said, “I mean, Father.”

Bruce just rolled his eyes, then knelt down to give Ace the attention he’d been trying to demand. After scratching at the dog’s ear and saying, “Yes, good morning Ace. I’m glad you woke up, too,” he turned to Jason and smiled. 

It was kind of surreal. 

How he could go from strict and angry with Damian to happy and smiling at the drop of a hat. 

Jason wasn’t sure if it made him more uneasy about Bruce Wayne or less. 

“I see you’ve met my son,” Bruce said, gesturing at Damian, “Damian, this is Jason. He’s going to be staying with us for a few days.”

At that, Jason’s brain almost short circuited. He felt like he’d been plunged underwater, thrown off into the deep end of a pool, when he couldn’t swim.

Because they had most certainly _not_ agreed on a ‘few’ days. One night and breakfast. That’s what Batman had said. 

Foster care was 100% not an option. Like hell was he gonna let some adult beat on him, or exploit him, or use him. 

What was Bruce trying to pull here? Why did he keep changing their agreement? 

First it’d just been dinner. 

Then it was dinner and a place to sleep for the night. 

Now it was a few days??

 _He said you can have out at any time,_ Jason reminded himself. 

“Why?” Damian asked, wrinkling his nose at Jason.

“He needed a place to stay while we find him a better home to live in,” Bruce said, and that was another punch in his gut, “You _will_ be kind to him. He is a guest in this house and I expect you to behave with all the dignity of a Wayne.”

Sure, Bruce had said he _could_ get Jason into a ‘better foster home,’ but Jason had never agreed to that. He’d agreed to a place to sleep and breakfast. That’s it!

Damian was a brat, apparently, too, because he looked at Jason with scorn and said, “He said you kidnapped him.”

‘That’s because he did,’ was right at the tip of Jason’s tongue. It was the first thing he wanted to say, rude and sarcastic always his defense. But he still felt numb. Was having a hard time reaching the surface of the pool. Catching his breath. 

He _really_ hoped none of that was showing on his face.

“Jason,” Bruce sighed, finally standing up from where he had still been absently petting Ace, “I told you it was your choice. I did not make you come here.”

All he could manage to do was shrug, and even that felt incredibly jerky. He was trying hard not to start shaking. Because he was losing control of the situation, and maybe he had never had control in the first place. Not since the very second Batman landed behind him in that stupid alley. 

After a moment of hesitation, he was able to mumble out, “I never agreed to you finding me a new home.”

“You need someplace safe to live, Jason,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his face, as if Jason were being exasperating or something. Exhausting him.

And that was all he needed. To flip from unsure and anxious to _angry._

Being angry was easy. Jason knew how to be angry, and it was a comfort to be able to fall back into it. “I was fine where I was.”

“You were not.”

“Where were you living before?” Damian asked, climbing up on the couch next to Jason.

“None of your business,” Jason snapped, at the same time Bruce said, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help!” Jason screeched, “I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I don’t _need_ stupid adults to ‘help’ me.”

Bruce just rubbed at his face, while Damian spoke up and said, “You lived by yourself? But you’re just a kid.”

“I am not a kid.”

“You’re like ten,” Damian said, giving Jason a flat look. Which was just annoying, because wasn’t this kid like 5? He should fuck off and stop judging Jason.

“I’m twelve. And I _don’t_ need help.”

Despite Jason’s tone—which, was Wayne used to being disrespected?—Bruce did not match Jason’s anger, but rather just pursed his lips as he offered a short, “We will talk about this later today.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jason sank further back into the couch, his arms now crossed. 

He was pretty sure that just meant ‘you’ll do what I want, regardless, so stop arguing,’ but at this point Jason wasn’t sure what he could do about it. 

Maybe he’ll figure out how to run away after breakfast. 

Breakfast _was_ promised to him, after all.

Damian looked between Bruce and Jason a few times, before he hopped up and said, “Awesome! In that case, I’ll go get my new lego set and you can help me built it.”

Before Damian could run out of the room, though, Bruce said, “Damian. Ask if he wants to play with you. Do not demand or expect it from him.”

“Tt,” Damian pouted, turning back around to scowl at Bruce before he turned to Jason, “Want to play legos with me? Da- _Father_ bought me a new set a couple weeks ago. It’s really cool, it’s supposed to be Voltron, but it’s hard and I need help. The box says it’s for _sixteen-_ year-olds.”

“Uh,” Jason said, kind of deflating at Damian’s sudden… friendliness? Kind of? “I guess?”

Grinning, Damian ran off, out of the room and down the hall, then loudly up the stairs, Ace following.

“I think you just made his day,” Bruce said, sitting on the couch across from Jason’s, “He’s been wanting to build that for weeks, but he refused to let me help him with it.”

All Jason could do was nod, because he felt dazed. 

He had no idea what was going on here. 

Apparently, he was going to spend his morning playing legos with a kindergartener while a British butler made him breakfast and a billionaire made friendly conversation with him. 

In a library, of course. 

And he really wasn’t sure if he was actually free to go. 

At least nothing bad was happening. 

Yet….

“What’s with the ‘father’ thing?” Jason asked a minute later, deciding to just roll with whatever this was for now. And he _was_ curious about that. Because Damian kept seeming to forget to call Bruce “Father,” which was just weird. Who called their dad that, anyway? 

“He’s trying to get a rise out of me,” Bruce said, smiling fondly. Like Damian was being _cute._

If Jason had ‘tried to get a rise out of’ his dad…

“He’s mad at me for fighting with Dick,” Bruce explained, and now Jason was very aware of his every movement. 

Because he _had_ to have heard that wrong, right?

“What?” he said, his face pinching up involuntarily as he eyed Bruce. 

“My eldest son,” Bruce explained, “His name is Dick. He and I got into a disagreement a couple months ago and he moved out.”

“Oh,” Jason said. Rich people were weird. Really, really weird. “Maybe the real crime here was naming him ‘Dick’”

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He _really_ hadn’t. But once it was out, he couldn’t take it back. Bruce laughed, though. A short, amused one that made Jason smile a little. 

“His full name is Richard, and I didn’t name him. I adopted him when he was 11.”

“Oh.” Jason pulled his legs back up on the couch and sat criss-cross, then asked, “Is Damian adopted, too?”

“No, he’s biological.”

“Then how’d you get Richard?”

“I was his foster father for a couple years before I adopted him.”

“You’re a foster parent?” Jason _hated_ how he perked up at the realization, but he did. Because if Bruce were a foster parent _and_ Batman, it meant he probably knew that system _really_ well. And maybe… maybe his offer of finding Jason a ‘better foster home’ had been genuine. And like, one he could trust. Maybe? 

Surely Batman wouldn’t throw a kid into a horrible home, like the ones Jason had always been assigned to. 

Right? 

That’s not what Batman did.

He would know which social workers were good and which weren’t. Which families were good. 

Maybe it meant _he_ was one of the good ones…?

 _His foster kid ran away,_ Jason reminded himself. But, then again, Damian was trying to get a rise out of him. That would mean he’s not afraid of him being angry. Probably.

_But real kids are different from adopted kids._

Regardless of how Bruce treated his foster kid, surely he’d be able to pick a good home out for Jason, right? One where he could maybe go to school?

He really wanted to go back to school. But he had to have a guardian to sign him up, so he’d been SOL on that front since he was 9. After he ran off from his first foster home.

It wasn’t until Damian appeared again, carrying a box of legos, did Jason realize he’d tuned Bruce out and missed whatever he’d said.

Bruce wasn’t annoyed by it, though. At least it seemed. Because once Damian dropped the box on the coffee table, he said, “I’ll let you boys have at it, but breakfast is in ten minutes,” and left the room.

“We have time to sort the bags,” Damian said, as he ripped open the box and dumped its contents out onto the table, “there are like six different parts. I think.”

And as Damian sorted out the bags, with a little of Jason’s help… who really had no idea what was happening. He’d never ‘played with legos’ before, he figured there were definitely worse things he could be doing right now. 

Like trying to find a safe place to sleep for another couple hours, during these slow morning hours. Out of sight of police and regular Gotham citizens. 

Actually, a nap would be really nice. If Wayne was going to force him to stay a few days, maybe he could take a nap after breakfast. In that bed upstairs. That would be nice.

Nothing bad had happened yet, after all. 

Maybe that wouldn’t change?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to Sahiti from the comments on chapter 5. 💕❤️
> 
> Most of you seem to have expected Damian to hate Jason right from the very start, but I just can't see that happening. Especially since no one, at this point, is anticipating Jason being there permanently. He really is 'just a guest' at this point, and Damian is lonely. Having another kid to play with for a couple days is probably very exciting for him. Plus, I don't think "replacing Dick" is a concept Damian would even come up with on his own. It's just an absurd thought, because Damian would just know in his head 'there's no way Jason could replace Dick,' it wouldn't even faze him that that could be what is happening. (and obviously, it's not.)
> 
> Also, happy Saturday! :D. It's like the first day of summer here. IT GOT TO 82!!! After it snowed like two weeks ago? Three? And it's been in the 30s in the morning still a lot of the time. So I'm very excited and in a great mood today. Naturally, I spent most the afternoon holed up inside writing. But I can see how nice and pretty it is outside. 😆 I swear I went out this morning. lol 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I love comments. <3\. Thanks for reading!
> 
> OH yeah, also, I have no idea what I'm doing with these chapter titles. I might change them sometime, if I can figure out a better naming system. Heh


	7. Play

Breakfast passed in relative silence.

Jason seemed to be calming down some. He looked overwhelmed by the amount of food put out on the table, but seemed less sickened by it once he realized they actually ate it all. 

Or, well, Bruce ate most of it. He was on a fairly high calorie diet, after all. He had to be, in order to keep in top physical condition. 

After prompting from Alfred, Jason had served himself what he wanted, and actually eaten all of it. Although he seemed to be forcing the last few bites down. He didn’t ask for more, though, so Bruce decided not to press the issue. The last thing Bruce wanted was for Jason to lose the precious calories by overeating. 

Eating only until full would have to be a habit trained into him again. But not right now, not when he was obviously so nervous and untrusting of everything. And honestly, it would likely take months, if not _years_ to truly get him beyond the trauma of living on the street, trying to support himself. Bruce was not going to expect him to behave like a perfect, normal child after two meals. Nor would he push for it in the three or four days he was going to spend at the manor. 

That would be something his foster family would have to work on. Bruce just wanted him to feel safe enough not to run away before he got him placed. 

Bruce had been intending on having a chat with Jason right after breakfast, but then he nearly tripped over that stupid cat he’d forgotten all about. 

“Dad,” Damian screeched, swooping in to snatch Figaro up and comfort her. Despite the fact Bruce hadn’t even touched her. “Watch where you’re going.” 

Flexing his hands, Bruce just smiled tightly and took a second to bite back every snapping retort he had to _that_ statement. “We are getting bells to put on her,” he said, finally, turning to face both Damian and Jason, who was still sitting at the breakfast table, just silently observing them. 

Which, reminded him. He had been planning on taking Damian to the pet store. Before he found Jason and busied up his weekend.

Since the cat was still there and not going anywhere, and she obviously needed a collar with a bell on it or something. Tags that jingle, at the very least. He should probably still do that. 

It was Saturday, and the strip mall he had in mind opened at 9 on Saturdays, so they could just go right then and get it over with. 

“How would you boys like to go to the strip mall? The one with the pet store we like. So we can get the stuff we need for Figaro?”

Damian perked up at that and shouted, “Yes!” as he started to bounce around with Figaro still in his arms. 

“In Gotham?” Jason asked, pulling both his legs up on the chair.

“Yeah, it’s in Gotham,” Bruce said, “On the outskirts, but it still has a Gotham address. There’s a pizza place there Damian likes. We can always stop there for lunch.”

“Yes!” Damian screeched louder, “Pet store _and_ pizza. Best day ever.”

“Alright,” Bruce said, trying not to laugh too much at his son, “Go get dressed then.”

As Damian scampered off, Bruce turned back to Jason and saw him just sitting there, picking at the pant hem around his ankle. “Would you like to join us? You can always stay here, if you’d prefer.”

Jason bit at his lip and eyed Bruce, before he finally said, “I can come with you.”

With as gentle a smile as he could offer, he said, “Alright. Why don’t you go get dressed, too, then meet us down here in the kitchen.”

Bruce readied himself and went to pull one of Damian’s booster seats from a car to put in the car they’d take, so each of the boys would have one to sit in. Once he was done, he found both the boys sitting in the kitchen, seemingly ready to go. 

But Jason had his hoody and old jeans on, and Bruce had to frown. Because with those clothes on, he definitely stood out. He had been hoping with some of Damian’s clothes on, Jason would just look like a friend of Damian’s, and no one would pay any attention to the random extra kid with them. But dressed like that, it was obvious Jason was not one of Damian’s school friends. 

Plus. They _kind of_ smelled. Alfred definitely needed to wash them, if that were even possible without completely destroying them.

“Jason,” Bruce said slowly, trying to figure out how to word it without sounding massively selfish or egotistical, “I know you probably like your own clothes, but we tend to have paparazzi follow us around, and people will ask fewer questions if you wear the clothes Alfred laid out for you. I’d rather not subject you to the attention of the media.”

All Jason did in response was frown, though, and stick his hands into his hoody pocket. 

“Here,” Bruce said, motioning for Jason to follow him upstairs. Jason did so, hesitantly, and they wound up in one of the spare bedrooms, where Alfred kept all the clothes for Damian that were too big for him still. Some of it was Dick’s old stuff, the nicer things that were still in great shape, and a lot of it were items purchased specifically so they would have clothes for Damian on those days he put his pants on and suddenly they were an inch too short. 

Which had happened. 

A couple times. 

Jason stayed standing near the doorway to the room, so Bruce sighed and flipped on all the lights so hopefully he could see the closet from where he was. “A lot of this should fit you,” he said, grabbing a stack of tshirts and a couple pairs of pants and tossing them on the bed, “what would you like?”

When Jason didn’t respond, he turned back to look at him, and all he saw was a scared little boy. He could just see the death-grip on the batarang Bruce was certain was inside that hoody pocket.

What had Bruce gotten himself into with this? He couldn’t even offer this kid clothes without freaking him out. Why did he think he was equipped to help him, even for a weekend?

Rubbing a hand over his face, then running it through his hair, Bruce took a second to _think._

What on earth could he do to get this little kid to relax, just a fraction?

In the stack of shirts was a bright red one, so Bruce pulled it out and absolutely did not roll his eyes when he realized it was a Flash tshirt. “How about this one?” he asked, holding it out for Jason to take. 

When Jason did finally take the shirt, Bruce looked through the pants for a pair that looked similar enough to his current jeans, and handed them over. Bruce did not miss the way Jason’s shook a little both times. 

“Okay, why don’t you go back to your room and change, okay? If you don’t like those, there is plenty more here to choose from.”

It took Jason way longer than necessary to change, but he did eventually come out of the room, wearing at least the pants. He wasn’t sure about the shirt, though, because Jason had put his hoody on over it. 

“Jay, it’s 85º outside. You don’t need the hoody.”

“Yes I do,” Jason said, grasping onto the hem of the sweatshirt, as if he thought Bruce would physically try to remove it from him. 

And Bruce just sighed. Because yep. He was so out of his depths with this one. 

It was probably dumb of him, taking this kid home. But how else could he help him? He needed time to research good foster families. Just dropping him off at a police station or with social services would probably be worse than someone incompetent like him taking care of him in the interim. Right?

At least Bruce wasn’t going to hurt him. He couldn’t say the same thing with absolute certainty about whatever emergency placement they would put Jason in. 

He just wished Jason could trust that fact.

Bruce took a step closer to Jason, causing the boy to back himself up against the wall, one hand reaching toward the door to his guest room. So Bruce knelt down where he was and looked up at Jason, about 4 feet away. 

“Why do you need it? It’s hot outside. You’ll get uncomfortable.” _And you won’t blend in. At all._

“I wear it everyday. I’ll be fine,” he protested, giving Bruce a scowl that could rival Damian’s. 

“You’ll stand out, Jason. I’m sorry I have to push this, but I really don’t want people asking questions. Your being here is technically illegal and we don’t need that attention.”

They both stayed there, silently staring at each other, for a good minute before Jason jutted a lip out and hugged onto his sweatshirt a little tighter. 

“What’s the real problem, Jay,” he sighed.

“I need it.”

“It’s hot outside. You don’t.” If they had another hoody in Jason’s size, Bruce would just offer him that. But they didn’t. Alfred wasn’t a fan of hoodies, and while Damian had a couple, none of them would be big enough for Jason.

“Yeah, but _winter_ is cold.”

“Winter isn’t going to happen in the four hours we’re out,” Bruce said, but then Jason’s words really sank in. 

Jason didn’t trust Bruce to bring him _back_ here. 

Because of course he didn’t. 

Why hadn’t Bruce realized that sooner?

What reason would Jason have to believe Bruce wasn’t just taking all his stuff away and dumping him off on the street again, completely empty handed save for a new tshirt and pants? 

“Wait here,” he said, hopping up and going down the hall, to Dick’s room. In the closet, he found exactly what he was looking for and brought it back for Jason. 

“Here,” he said, handing Jason the backpack, “This was my son’s back in middle school. He hasn’t used it in years, so you can have it. Put your stuff in there, including the hoody, and you can carry it around with you. Okay? Then come back to the kitchen.”

Jason nodded and slipped back in his room.

Down in the kitchen, Bruce took a moment to just lean against the counter and breathe.

He had _no idea_ what he was doing with Jason. How did one handle an abused and neglected child? Was it even possible to earn his trust? 

Maybe he should talk to his therapist about it. She’d probably know. 

“Are we gonna go soon?” Damian asked, from where he was sitting at the island, coloring a picture of Figaro he’d drawn. It was actually pretty decent. For a six-year-old, of course. But it was obvious the cat was sitting on their island, specifically, in the drawing. And sleeping. 

“That’s impressive, son,” Bruce said, before ruffling his hair and adding, “Yes. Jason should be ready soon.”

“Can he help me with my legos more when we get home?”

“If he wants. Did you have fun with him this morning?”

“Uh huh. But he didn’t really talk.”

“He’ll warm up,” Bruce said, trying to fix Damian’s hair from where he’d messed it up, “just give him a little time.”

“Can we go to the art store?” Damian asked, as Jason trudged his way into the kitchen, his backpack slung over a shoulder.

“We’ll see.” Bruce pat Damian on the head one more time before he slipped into the pantry, hit by the sudden realization that maybe Jason had been planning to run off while they were in Gotham, and _that’s_ why he needed his hoody. 

If Jason were going to run off, he wasn’t going to do it empty handed. 

Grabbing as many of the assorted protein bars Alfred kept in a basket as he could, Bruce brought them back out to the kitchen and dropped them all on the counter. Then he retrieved a couple bottles of water from the fridge and held a hand out for Jason to give him the backpack. 

Warily, Jason did, and Bruce immediately put the two bottles into the main pouch, then pushed all the food bars off the counter and into it. 

He’d still work hard on finding Jason a proper home, even if he ran off, but at least this way he’d know Jason wouldn’t starve to death in the meantime.

Jason just stared at Bruce, wide eyed, as he took the bag back. Bruce just barely caught a sheen of tears in Jason’s eyes as he hugged it close before he looked away and scrubbed at his eyes.

And Bruce couldn’t help it. He set a hand on Jason’s head and gave him a second to flinch, like expected. Jason didn’t pull away, though, after the initial reaction, so Bruce ruffled his hair. 

Bruce bent down so they were at eye-level and said seriously, “But Jay? I’m not kicking you out. I told you I want to help you get off the street, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Jason whispered, and the way his voice barely worked made Bruce want to just close his eyes, and maybe cry himself. 

But he didn’t. He kept them open, hopefully expressing the sincerity of his words to Jason. 

“I want you to be safe and fed and happy. That is my only motive.”

The way Jason searched Bruce’s face was equally heartbreaking, but he did eventually nod and say, “Okay,” so Bruce was going to count it as a win.

Or, at least as a not-loss. 

Surprisingly, Jason didn’t fight the booster seat. Didn’t even mention it as he climbed into the car and buckled himself in. 

Damian chatted Jason’s ear off the entire way to the mall, while Jason just stared out the window, his backpack still clutched in his arms. But he seemed to perk up some once they reached the mall.

He trailed along, walking on the other side of Damian from Bruce as they went into the pet store first. Bruce knew Damian would likely drag them inside half the stores, so he wanted to get the actual errands out of the way first. 

Unfortunately for him, apparently the pet store was currently adopting out some puppies. And Damian tugged his hand from Bruce’s almost immediately after stepping foot in the store so he could run to go look at them all in their playpen.

“Now we’ll never be allowed to leave,” Bruce groaned. When he looked down at Jason, the boy offered him a tiny smile before he, too, walked off to join Damian at the puppies. 

“Would you like to play with them?” a store worker asked, once both boys were peeking over the fence, all the puppies excitedly trying to climb the wall to get to them, “if your Dad says it’s okay, you boys can climb in and pet them.”

“Please Dad,” Damian nearly squealed, turning around and giving Bruce the best pleading eyes he could. 

They didn’t work on Bruce for a second.

“If I say no I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

“Never ever,” Damian said, grinning as he climbed into the pen. Jason hesitated a second, but then climbed in, too, after Damian sat down and got attacked by puppies.

Both boys were reduced pretty much to giggles once the puppies started trying to climb all over them. The worker started talking with them, telling them about where the puppies had come from, and what each one was named. 

After taking a couple pictures, Bruce largely tuned them out in favor of checking his phone. 

He had a reminder set up on his phone, to tell him to call Dick each day around noon. Dick never answered, of course, but Bruce left him a voicemail religiously. One day, Dick might answer. So he kept calling. 

Since the boys were fairly well occupied, Bruce went ahead and stepped out of earshot, but still within sight, and set his phone to dial Dick. 

It only rang twice before he was sent to voicemail. 

Even though he’d done this probably fifty times, he couldn’t help the pang of disappointment every time Dick sent him to voicemail instead of answer. 

Bruce had been using the voicemails to keep Dick in the loop with the happenings around the manor. Hopefully Dick was appreciating it. Bruce kind of wanted it to make him homesick. 

_“Hey, Dick. I hope you are well. Damian is a bit happier today. Right now he’s playing with some puppies at the pet store, I’ll have to send you a picture. I just know he’ll try to convince me to bring one or all of them home with us._

_There’s another little boy in the picture. I met him last night, while out. He tried to steal my tires, funny enough, and I realized he is a street kid in need of a few good meals and a safe place to sleep. I’m going to find him a good home to live in, but I think I’ll have to earn his trust first. He’s real skittish, but Dick he’s smart, clever, and rather funny. I think you’d like him, if you met him. And I’m sure you would know exactly what to say to him to convince him to go to a good foster home. You’re so much better with victims than I am._

_Anyway, call or text me soon. Love you.”_

As soon as Bruce hung up, he picked up one of the collars he’d found, that had a bell dangling off it, and went back over to where Damian and Jason were still sitting with the puppies. 

“Dad,” Damian said, holding one of the puppies up, “This one is my favorite. Can we adopt her?”

“You just got a kitten,” Bruce said instead of ‘no,’ which Damian should know was the answer.

Although he should have known the answer to a kitten was also no, and yet he still accepted one from Selina. 

“But Dad, her name is Cleo! Like the fish on Pinocchio that Figaro always played with, they were meant to be together.”

“No.” 

“But-”

“No,” Bruce said sternly, which just made Damian jut his lower lip out, “Get up. Say good-bye. We need to find stuff for Figaro now.”

Damian did, but made sure he made a show about saying goodbye to Cleo, and informing her of his love. 

He was such a dramatic child…

Jason, too, got up, from where he’d be sitting and absently petting at the puppy that had crawled into his lap. It was good to know Jason wasn’t afraid of dogs, just perhaps put off by how Ace can be, the night before. 

It took way too long picking out toys for Figaro. Damian also made Bruce put the collar he’d picked out back, since green was ‘not Figaro’s color, Father.’ And by the time they were done, Bruce was ready to get lunch and go home. No other stores visited.

Thankfully, Jason took Bruce’s side, so Damian’s campaign to go to the art store failed, and Bruce got to use for the first time in his life ‘it’s two against one,’ against one of his sons. 

Bruce ordered a pizza for the three of them to share, and just listened as Jason and Damian chatted, both of them sitting across from him at the booth.

“What school do you go to?” Damian asked, his feet kicking while he played a game on his phone. It looked like that angry bird game, but Bruce rarely paid attention to what games Damian was playing. He had parental locks on the phone, he knew whatever it was had already been deemed appropriate for 6-year-olds. 

“I used to go to PS 37,” Jason said, his head resting in his hand as he leaned almost against Damian, but not at all touching him, in order to watch whatever Damian was doing. 

Bruce frowned a little, at the ‘used to,’ but he had already figured a homeless child hadn’t been attending school. He just wondered how long ago Jason had been made homeless. He’d yet to have a chance to dig through the records and figure out when, exactly, he’d fallen off the state’s radar. 

If it was even he state that was missing him. For all Bruce knew, Jason ran away from actual parents. 

He really needed to sit Jason down and get the story from him. It was just difficult to do that, when it was obvious Jason was expecting Bruce to hurt him at any second. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“That’s because you probably go somewhere snobby like Gotham Academy. It’s one of the public schools.”

“Oh,” Damian said, accidentally kicking Bruce as he failed a level, “Dang it. And Gotham Academy is a good school, I liked my teacher last year. You should go there, too. We could eat lunch together.”

“You know I’m like twice your age, right kid?” 

Damian scowled, so Bruce decided to step in before they started fighting. “What grade did you last attend?”

Jason clenched his jaw, but did answer, “4th grade. I almost finished.”

So that answered that. “And you should be in 7th this year?”

“Uh huh,” Jason said, his brow furrowing as he watched Damian fail his level for the third time, “try aiming higher. Get that block up there to knock down the one at the bottom you keep missing.”

When Damian did as Jason suggested, he grinned widely as he got three stars on the level, then asked, “You skipped grades, too? I’m skipping 1st grade and going into 2nd grade this year.”

“Something like that,” Jason mumbled, then sat back and basically pouted as their pizza arrived at the table.

“There’s still a couple weeks until the new term starts,” Bruce said, once the server had left and he handed a plate to each of the boys, “there’s plenty of time to get you settled somewhere and signed up.”

“Would I have to do 4th grade over again?” Jason asked, almost in a whining tone, “I don’t want to start in 4th grade.”

Bruce put a piece of the supreme pizza on each of the boys’ plates, then served himself a slice and said, “I’m not entirely sure, but I think they’d put you in 7th grade and have you take placement tests and do catchup work this year, in hopes of having you at the 8th grade level next year. I guess it depends on the school.”

“Great,” he groaned, through a bite of pizza, “so everyone will know I’m stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Damian protested, “you knew how to win my game.”

Jason scowled and snapped, “That’s just a stupid game.” 

“It’s not stupid! I didn’t know how to-”

“Okay,” Bruce interrupted, “don’t bicker. Jay. Having no access to education does not make you stupid. Intelligence and education are two separate things. And I saw you reading _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ this morning. Were you understanding it?”

“Duh,” Jason huffed, “I’ve read it a bunch of times before.”

“You realize that is usually a high school level book, right? Don’t sell yourself short. You are clearly not dumb.”

At that, Jason offered a tight almost-smile as he took another bite of his pizza. “I want to go to school, though,” he eventually mumbled.

“Good.” 

Perhaps if a foster family wasn’t something he could convince Jason of, maybe boarding school would be something. 

That would actually probably work better for him. He’d have more independence there, and wouldn’t be so obviously out of place, not having parents. _Assuming he didn’t, of course._

Although it seemed unlikely had _did_ have them. 

Actually, Bruce was going to look that up right then. Alfred had informed Bruce of Jason’s last name, so he turned on the secured mode on his phone and logged into the Batcomputer. 

As they ate, he worked on locating the records of Jason Todd, so hopefully by the time they got home, he’d have a better game plan for this whole Jason thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my awesome beta, Kasyfairtaillover, for helping me out with this chapter. ❤️❤️
> 
> And thanks all of you for reading and leaving comments! Y'all make writing fun for me. :D
> 
> I changed the chapter count to "?" because I'm not sure how many I'll have. I have 18 chapters outlined, but 20 chapter folders, and it's confusing me, so I decided to quit bothering with it and just let the story be as long as it's gonna be. I know where I'm going and what has to happen to get there, so we'll see how many chapters that ends up being. (It's just, for sure, more than 15 lol)


	8. Panic

Bruce learned a lot about Jason in the 20 minutes he spent researching him at the restaurant. 

For one, he was an orphan. Which made things easier. Bruce felt bad thinking that, though. 

His mom had died of an apparent drug overdose about two and a half years prior. His dad had been in prison at the time, serving out a life sentence. From the looks of it, Willis Todd had been in and out of prison before finally earning himself that life sentence. 

Then Willis was murdered in his prison cell a mere six months before Bruce met Jason. 

Considering the last record of Jason was almost a year old, which was a simple report saying he’d run away from his fourth foster home, Bruce wasn’t sure if Jason was aware his dad was dead. 

And Bruce didn’t really want to be the one to tell him. 

But he couldn’t think of an alternative, either. 

He had intended on having a chat with Jason as soon as they got home, but then Jason blew up on him in the car.

It had started when Bruce looked back at the boys in the mirror and noticed Jason nodding off.

“Jason, lad,” he said, adjusting the mirror a little as he did so he could see them both a tad better, “stay awake.”

Scowling as he sat up, Jason said, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to,” Bruce said patiently, careful not to look at Jason too long, “I’m just saying, it’ll be easier to sleep tonight if you don’t take a nap now.”

“How come you make me take a nap, then?” Damian demanded, looking up from his phone. 

“You are six,” Bruce said simply, “Jason is twelve. You won’t have to take naps when you’re twelve, either.” 

“Not fair,” Damian mumbled, but sank down into his seat and kept playing his game. 

“Why do you want me to sleep at night?” Jason said, “Why does it matter to you?”

“Because-”

“Why is this door locked,” Jason interrupted, and Bruce looked back again to see Jason tugging at his door’s handle, no longer fastened in. 

And Bruce just blinked. Because they were going 70mph down the interstate. _That_ was why the door was locked.

“Because we’re moving,” Damian said, still engrossed in his mad birds game, “they don’t open when we’re moving. Duh.” 

“You said I could have out,” Jason said, scowling at Bruce, still tugging at his door’s handle, “I want out.” 

“Jason,” Bruce tried, just to have Jason interrupt him again.

“Let me out,” he whined, “Stop and let me out.”

“If you keep trying to open it when it’s dangerous,” Damian said, completely unhelpfully, “Dad’ll turn the child lock on so we can’t open it ourselves at all.” 

And that seemed to be the exact wrong thing for Jason to hear, because he kicked at Bruce’s chair and said, “Let me out, let me out, let me _out.”_

“Jason,” Bruce said, loudly without shouting, because he really didn’t want to lose his temper with him, “I need you to calm down.” 

“You just want me to be tired and _easier,”_ Jason shouted, kicking at Bruce’s seat harder, “Let me _out_.” 

“No, that’s not- I would never-” Bruce tried, but Jason was working himself up, and there wasn’t much Bruce could do while driving. 

“Let me out,” Jason said desperately, pulling at the lock on the door, trying his best to make it open. 

It wasn’t going to. And Bruce didn’t want to stop the car, because if he did, then the door _would_ let him out. He was a little concerned Jason might run right out into traffic, if he let that happen. 

“Jase, Jase, buddy,” he said, trying to talk loud enough so maybe Jason would hear him over his own panic, “Jason you need to calm down.”

“Let me out,” Jason cried, “I don’t want to be here.” 

“Jason,” Bruce shouted, causing Jason to freeze and stare at Bruce, like a deer in headlines. He hated eliciting such a response from him, but if Jason kept freaking out, he might put them all in danger. The last thing they needed was him climbing up to the front and trying to escape that way. 

“I need you to take a deep breath and calm yourself,” Bruce said as gently as possible, “I am not going to let you out in the middle of the interstate. You’ll get run over.” 

“You said I could have out,” Jason whispered, now sitting back down properly, hugging tightly to his backpack. 

“Jason, I promise I’m not going to hurt you. You are _safe_ in my house.” 

“You think Dad’s gonna hurt you?” Damian asked, “Why would you think that?”

“Shut up,” Jason shouted, and it wasn’t clear who he was yelling at, but he did finish with, “You can’t keep me prisoner. It’s illegal.” 

“Dad doesn’t hurt kids,” Damian said, “he hurts people who hurt kids, because….” he paused and looked at Bruce, as if realizing he didn’t know whether Jason _knew._

 _“_ Because I’m Batman,” Bruce finished, “And you know that, Jason. I protect the innocent, not hurt them.” 

Jason just stayed sitting there, staring at the back of Bruce’s chair. It almost looked like he was trembling, a little. But it could just be the vibration of the car, too. 

“If you want to take a nap when we get back, I won’t stop you. It will just be easier to shift your sleep schedule if you stay up until bedtime tonight. You will need to start sleeping at night if you want to go to school.”

"Yeah, sure," Jason said, and Bruce could hear the sarcasm in his voice. The touch of disbelief and desperation, too.

But Jason didn't say anything else, and for the remainder of the drive home, he sat quietly, hugging tightly onto his backpack. He did refasten his seatbelt when Bruce requested it, though.

And when Bruce parked the car and unlocked the doors, he didn’t budge. 

“Dami, why don’t you go show Figaro all the new toys we got her,” Bruce said, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning around the best he could to look back at Jason. 

“Okay!” he said, then turned to Jason and added, “Don’t leave, Jason. We didn’t even get to build Voltron, yet,” before he opened the door and ran across the garage to the Manor entrance, shouting for Figaro as he went. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason whispered, as he wiped at his eyes and looked down at the floor, instead of up at Bruce. 

Bruce just frowned at that, because there wasn’t really much for Jason to apologize for. He couldn’t help having panic attacks, if that’s what had just happened. Bruce just wished he knew what the triggers were, and why he had them… 

“What can I do to make you feel safer here?” 

“You’re not gonna let me leave,” he said, almost miserably. Like he was realizing his fate and trying to come to terms with it, without crying. 

“I don’t want to set you back out on the streets,” Bruce said honestly, “it doesn’t mean I’ll keep you prisoner.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe out there, you have to realize that.” 

“No where’s ever safe,” Jason shot back, a hint of anger returning to his face, starting to overpower the exhaustion. 

But the confession was too much for Bruce. Because no twelve-year-old should ever say such a thing. Should never _believe_ such a thing. 

He closed his eyes and rubbed at his face for a moment, before he turned back to Jason and asked, “Is that the life you want to live? Having to fight just for food and shelter? No access to education or help or anything? With only yourself to rely on?”

“I was fine,” Jason mumbled, but he was hugging his backpack again, burying half his face into the bag. 

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, “You were fine. You did a good job taking care of yourself, but Jason, you can be so much more than ‘fine’ if you just trust me and let me help you.” 

“But what are you going to do with me?” Jason whined, a pitiful crease right between his eyes, making Bruce think about the little face Damian always made before he cried, “You said a place to sleep and breakfast, but now you aren’t letting me leave and it’s a few days. What do you want? What are you _doing?”_

With a sigh, Bruce considered having the full conversation with Jason right then, but figured they’d be more comfortable inside. 

Plus, it would be helpful to have a computer in front of him. 

“How about we go inside and have this conversation in my study.” Bruce took the keys out of the ignition, then opened his door to get out. 

“Do I have a choice?” Jason whined, as he opened his own door and got out.

“You have a lot of choices ahead of you, Jay. I promise.” 

As they walked, Bruce heard Jason take several deep, shuddering breaths. But he refrained from looking back or reaching over to try and comfort the boy. Jason had made it fairly clear the night before he hated being touched, and with as high strung as he already was, even making any movement toward him would likely set him over the edge again. 

Once in the study, Bruce pointed at the couch while he took a seat at his desk and booted up his laptop. He wanted to pull Jason’s records up himself and review the documents from his time in Foster Care. 

His phone had been too small to easily review the documents earlier, so he wanted to do it now. 

Jason spent the few minutes Bruce spent pulling everything up just sitting there, at the couch, his arms crossed as he stared off into the distance. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, once he was ready, “So I found your records and looked them over.” 

“From?” he asked softly, still just staring off, like he knew nothing he said or did was going to change his fate, and he was just preparing himself to accept whatever it was. 

Bruce suppressed a sigh, and said, “From social services. It’s your birth records and everything about you that the state knows.” 

“Oh.”

“You’ve run away from four foster homes six different times.”

“Uh huh,” Jason hummed, pulling his legs up onto the couch to sit cross legged, even as he still refused to look at Bruce. 

“Why is that?” Bruce asked gently. 

“What are you, my social worker?”

“Not officially, but if I’m going to be finding you a good home, I would like to know why you ran off from the others.” 

“It’s not like it matters,” Jason mumbled, sinking further down into the couch. 

“Of course it matters. I’m not going to get you placed anywhere without your permission.” 

“Well good for you,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “but _social services_ doesn’t care. They placed me back in my first home _twice.”_

“I saw that,” Bruce said, frowning back at the records. Jason ran off from that home twice, and for some reason, his social worker decided ‘hey, we’ll put him back there for a third time.’ He’d escaped within the day that final time. “Why didn’t you like that home? It has good marks.”

“That’s what she said, too,” Jason said, glaring at Bruce, “so she didn’t believe me.”

“I’ll believe you, just tell me what was wrong with it.”

“It was a front,” Jason snapped, “they sold their kids. Or _rented_ them out. And enough of the cops and social workers are in the mob’s pockets that no one does anything about it. I’ll do a lot of things for food, but not _that.”_

Bruce’s eyes widened, just a touch, and he quickly looked back down at the name of the foster home. It only took half a minute before he had the records of every child ever assigned to that house pulled up.

Now that he knew what to look for, it wasn’t hard at all to find all the evidence that they were, in fact, _selling_ their children. Unless 60% of the kids assigned to them honestly ran way. 

It was common for foster kids in Gotham to run off, Bruce _thought,_ but that number seemed awfully high. He made a quick note to do a little more research on runaways, after he was done talking to Jason. 

“Well? Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, instantly, looking up from the case notes he was already typing out quickly, before he lost his train of thought, “I’ll get this home shut down. I promise.” 

That gave Jason pause, before he nodded and said, “Oh. Okay. Ms. Trinity said I was making stuff up.” 

“I know you aren’t. Nine-year-old boys don’t run away for no reason, I believe you. Can you tell me what was wrong with the other three?”

Jason did. Two of them were just plain old abusive, and Jason ‘got tired of being a punching bag,’ and the third was deep into one of the gangs, forcing the kids to run drugs and other tasks in order to earn their food. Jason said he preferred to be a free agent, so he ran from that one and stayed out of that gang’s territory so not to 'get offed.' 

It was… troubling. 

Bruce made note of everything Jason said in the new file he created, just for Jason Peter Todd. But the more Bruce assured Jason he believed him, the more Jason opened up. And by the end of the conversation, Jason seemed much more relaxed. 

“If I can find a safe, clean foster home, would you stay in it?”

“Um,” Jason said, picking at a loose thread in his shirt’s hem, “Do you think one exists? Because I never met a kid who’d been to a good home.”

“I will research every single home in Gotham if I have to, to find you one.” 

“May-Maybe,” he mumbled, “If I can go to school and they feed me and don’t hit me n’stuff.” 

“Can I have a week?” Bruce asked, looking Jason right in the eyes, “Can you trust me for a week and stay here, with us, while I work this case?” 

“A week?” Jason said, grimacing a little as he sat back.

“A week. Food, shelter, the whole works, no strings attached.”

“Maybe,” Jason whispered, looking down at his hands as he did. 

And Bruce just smiled. He knew it wasn’t much, but it felt like the first step toward trust, so he was going to take it. 

“All right, why don’t you run off and let me work on this. You can do whatever you want, play with Damian, take a nap, explore, read. Whatever. Someone will come find you when it’s dinner time.” 

Jason nodded and was out of the room in half a second, seemingly glad to get away from Bruce for a little while. 

Bruce didn’t have time to feel offended, or sad, over that, because he had _a lot_ of research to do. 

And he spent the rest of the day doing just that. Right there in the study, his eyes glued to the screen as he typed up notes, and jotted others down in a random notepad he’d pulled from the desk. 

It was ridiculous, how many of the families were clearly fronts for human traffickers. 

Human. Traffickers.

The Foster Care system. 

How on earth had this existed for so long? Right under his nose?

Officially, the ‘runaway’ rate for Gotham foster kids was 37%. And that was just the kids reported as run aways. Another 1/4th of the foster families ’homeschooled,’ and there wasn’t as much hard proof that those children were actually still in their homes. 

It was disgusting.

The runaway rate for foster kids nation wide was, at most 3%. _Three._ The federal Children’s Bureau, the agency responsible for keeping track of all that, reported at between 2% and 3%. That was, at most, about 12,000 children a year. 

It was possible that 6,000 of those children were Gotham children. 

Half. Of the nation’s runaways. Were in Gotham. 

Why wasn’t the FBI investigating this? 

Bruce was mad at himself, most, for not looking into all this sooner. He had known, vaguely, that the Foster Care system in Gotham was less than stellar. But he hadn’t realized that the problem was this widespread. And this serious.

After just an afternoon of research, he already had enough evidence to convict a dozen different couples, with strong cases against at least thirty more. 

He could drop it all off on Gordon’s desk that night, if he wanted. 

But….

He had asked for a week from Jason. So maybe he should take that time and really perform an in depth study. Check out every single home, just like he’d promised. 

Besides, if he got just a few dozen couples, social workers, and cops arrested tonight, the rest would go to ground. He certainly didn’t want that. 

So yeah, he should do a full investigation. 

He had a week, after all.

And maybe he could actually find a good, clean family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU KASY, the best beta on the face of the planet because she just saaaaaaaved this chapter. Man. ❤️❤️❤️ She's the best. 
> 
> Full disclosure, I'm out of town starting Friday through the following Monday. As of this very second, I do not have the next two chapters ready to go. Hopefully I get those done, but we'll see. So if I miss a couple updates, that's why. I'm not dead, just traveling. I'll try to get them done before I leave, though, so I don't miss updates. I just kept getting distracted. *coughs loudly at the Clark-adopts-Damian crap I've published this week*. Hehe. Whoops. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! ❤️


	9. Visitor

Jason spent the rest of Saturday in ‘his’ room. Partly so he wouldn’t have to see anyone else, and partly because he was _exhausted._

Usually he had a little more sleep than this. 

He’d moved one of the arm chairs to the door, using it to hold the door closed, just in case someone defeated the lock from the outside and came in. Jason knew how easy it was to pick locks, after all. Plus, the door had a safety lock on it, so all it needed was a screwdriver to unlock. 

Pretty dumb.

The door, not Jason.

Bruce seemed genuine. Probably. Jason actually had no idea what to think of him, because he was big and scary looking, _but_ he was kind and patient. He was rich and above the law, evidenced by his Batman-ing, _but_ he was respectful and down-to-earth.

He was _weird._

And Jason wasn’t sure if he could trust Bruce. Just because an adult listened to him and offered him food and kept his fucking distance didn’t mean he was a good guy. His niceness could just be a game. A trick to get Jason to trust him so everything could come crashing down. 

Wayne probably wasn’t even gonna stick him in a foster home. He was just trying to keep Jason there long enough so he could have his very own street kid living in the manor. 

Jason shivered and pulled the blanket up over his head while he tried to regulate his breathing. He didn’t know Bruce’s motive. Maybe he was just a weirdo who liked kids…. In a good way. Those kind of people existed, right?

Maybe if he could talk to that Dick kid he could figure out what Wayne wanted. 

A knock at the door made Jason jump he had no idea how much later, his stiff joints protesting the action. 

“Jason,” Damian said through the door, “Dinner’s ready.” 

It took a debate to decide what to do about that. On the one hand, he actually wasn’t hungry. Which was a weird feeling. But on the other, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn down a meal. Even if it meant he had to get up and leave the safety of this room. He’d have to move the chair, too, and Damian would likely hear that. Would he say something about it? Tell on him? Would Bruce or Alfred be okay with Jason moving the furniture around? Or maybe get upset that Jason didn’t trust the lock?

“Jason,” Damian said again, knocking louder, “Wake up, we’re having Chicken Alfredo.”

“Fine,” Jason grumbled, fighting with the covers wrapped around him to get up, “I’m coming.”

Once Jason moved the chair from under the knob, then pushed it away, he opened the door to stare at an unamused Damian Wayne.

“Did you have a chair blocking your door?” Damian asked, poking his head into the room.

Jason pushed him back out and said, “That is none of your fucking business, twerp.”

“That’s a bad word,” Damian said as he fell into step beside Jason, on the way down to the dining room.

“And?”

“And Alfred doesn’t like it when we say bad words.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, “Well Alfred ain’t the boss of me.”

Damian shrugged, as if to say ‘your funeral’ 

In the dining room, they found Bruce already seated for dinner with the food sitting out. As soon as Jason sat down, Bruce served him a scoop of the pasta and some salad, which was weird. Because usually he was told to ‘help himself,’ but maybe he’d been eating too much or something. 

It made Jason’s stomach turn, just a little, to think maybe Bruce was trying to ration his food some. But there was still a ton of food on his plate, so he was able to take a breath, and then take a bite. 

Besides, he had all those granola bars if he got hungry later. He’d hidden that backpack under the lowest drawer in the chest of drawers in his guest room. No one would know it’s there, and he’d be able to grab it whenever he wanted. 

He didn’t really want to eat one of them, though. Once he ended up back on the street, he’d need every single calorie he could get. 

“Do you want to build Voltron after dinner?” Damian asked, not allowing the silence to stretch too long.

“You need to take a bath and get ready for bed,” Bruce said, before Jason could think up a way to say ‘no fuck off with the Voltron’ with Alfred around, “Did you want to read together tonight?”

“No,” Damian said petulantly, “I already read by myself. I want to play with legos before bed.”

Bruce looked to Jason, so Jason sighed and said, “Fine,” because he was pretty sure Damian wouldn’t leave him alone otherwise. 

Making Damian mad probably wasn’t a good strategy for this whole ‘staying in Wayne Manor,’ thing, anyway. That was probably a really bad, terrible, not good strategy, actually. If he became friends with the kid, maybe the adults would be more likely to keep being nice to him. 

Yeah.

 _That_ was probably a good strategy. 

“Alright,” Damian said, bouncing in his seat a little as he shoveled another bite into his mouth, “This is awesome! Have you ever _seen_ Voltron?”

“Yeah, you showed me this morning.”

“ _No,”_ Damian exasperated, “I meant the show.”

Jason scowled and said, “I don’t exactly have a TV.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t you have-”

“Damian,” Bruce cut in, “Not tonight. You can watch TV more tomorrow.”

The rest of dinner went pretty much the same way. Damian kept finding reasons to pout at Bruce, and Bruce just sighed a bunch and tried to engage Jason in conversation. 

But Jason didn’t really want to talk. So he started nodding and shaking his head and focused on eating. Bruce eventually gave up on that, and left Jason alone.

There was plenty of food on Jason’s plate to make him full, to the point he almost couldn’t finish his last few bites without feeling sick. A feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. 

Damian had to take a bath before he was allowed to play with his legos, so Jason just found the book he’d started that morning. It had been set on the coffee table, and a bookmark slipped into the page where Jason had left it open to, straddled over a pillow so not to bend the spine too far. 

About ten minutes into reading, Alfred came into the library with a stack of books and smiled when he saw Jason reading. 

“Ah, I see you found your book,” he said as he started putting the books back on the shelf, “A fine choice, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” Jason mumbled, as he pulled his feet back off the couch and tried to sit up like a civilized human. That seemed like something Alfred would care about. 

“Are you an avid reader, then?” 

“I don’t know about _avid,”_ Jason said, frowning down at the page he’d stopped at, “I don’t really have much time to read anymore. Since the library won’t let me check anything out and all.”

“Well, dear boy,” Alfred said, pulling a book down from the fiction section and walking over to Jason, “As long as you are here, you are welcome to ‘check out’ any books from this library and bring them to your room, or wherever you wish to read them. There is a hammock out back that is quite comfortable, I’m told. Master Dick often enjoyed doing his homework on the trampoline.”

“Like, while jumping?” Jason said skeptically, taking the book from Alfred when he offered it. It was called _Ender’s Shadow,_ and looked _very_ science fiction. 

“On occasion. I do believe he enjoyed the way the breeze kept it cool, however.” 

“Oh. What’s this?”

“Read it and find out,” Alfred said, just as Damian came barreling into the room, Ace right on his heels. 

“I’m ready!” he shouted, crashing to a stop right at the coffee table, where the legos were still nicely sorted. 

“You’re weird, you know?” Jason asked, once Alfred had left the room, “Why do you want me to play with you so bad?”

Damian held the instructions out for Jason to take, so he did as he slid down to the ground to help. “Ace likes you,” Damian explained, “That means you’re cool.”

“Right.”

Pointing at the booklet in Jason’s hand, Damian asked, “What do we do first?” and so they spent the rest of the hour building the first part of Voltron. 

And that was pretty much how the next several days went. 

Jason was free to sleep whenever he wanted. Bruce didn’t say another word about when Jason should sleep, and no one ever came into his room, which was good. Jason liked that. 

He still put the chair against the door, though. Just in case. That also kept Damian from being able to break in, because that little brat would not leave Jason alone. 

They did all sorts of shit together, when Jason wasn’t hiding in his room reading. Which, in the four days he’d been in Wayne Manor, he’d read _six_ books. Six. It was great.

But Damian had dragged him to the theater the house had and made him watch some of Voltron. Then they’d watched a couple movies, complete with popcorn, and run around in the backyard with the dog a few times. 

It was actually kind of not really bad. Sort of. The Damian and reading parts, at least. 

They kept feeding him, so that was good, too. But he hadn’t been allowed to serve himself food again. Alfred offered snacks often enough, though, and he never ended a meal hungry. So he was trying not to think about it. 

His week was swiftly coming to an end, anyway. 

It was on Thursday that something different happened. 

Jason had been doing a pretty good job at avoiding Bruce. He was always there at breakfast and dinner, and sometimes lunch, but otherwise they didn’t cross paths. And Alfred was usually doing this task or that during the day, so Jason wasn’t expecting to run into anyone when he turned the corner of one of the halls, leading toward the living room Damian preferred. 

But he froze when he saw a woman walking toward him, about ten feet down the hall.

“Uh, hi there,” the lady said, tilting her head as he examined Jason

“Hi,” Jason said slowly. The whole time he’d been at the manor, never once did they even have a _visitor._ Except for Jason, obviously.

Perhaps that was _because_ of Jason, since it would be bad form to let the world know Bruce had kidnapped a random street urchin. But Jason was getting the vibe they just didn’t have people over. Ever. 

“Who are you?” the lady finally said, walking closer to lean down closer, staring directly at Jason. It was kinda creepy. Definitely weird.

“Jason,” he snapped, crossing his arms so he could glare at her more effectively, “Who are _you?”_

Because that was the real fucking question. Jason was allowed to be here, this lady had totally just broke in, hadn’t she?

She smiled and stood back up, as if Jason had just done exactly what she was hoping he’d do. Which was extra weird. “Selina.”

“Does Bruce know you’re skulking around his house, ‘ _Selina_?’”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning now, “I’m his ‘friend.’”

“Uh huh,” he said, because he could just hear the air-quotes around that word. So she was probably an acquaintance he didn’t like. Or maybe a family member he really didn’t like but had to deal with, anyway.

“What are you doing here, kitten?” she asked, so sweetly. It was a weird tone, that made Jason want to relax a little and talk to her, which just set off alarm bells in him. There was no way in fuck he was trusting some random lady who broke into Wayne Manor. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun.

“Bruce kidnapped me,” he said simply. Just waiting for her face to twist or her to start yelling. Maybe at Jason for saying such a thing. Get mad. Just like Damian had.

But instead, it just seemed to amuse her further, because she said, “Did he now?” 

“That’s what I said.”

“Bruce,” Selina hollered, looking down toward where Bruce’s study was. Where he normally spent all his time when not ‘downstairs.’ “Bruce, get out here.” 

Jason rolled his eyes as Bruce called back, “Selina? What is it?” 

So apparently he did know her. He didn’t sound at all annoyed with her, either, so there went that theory.

Then why the heck was she breaking in??

“Oh,” Bruce said, once he’d rounded the corner and seen them, “I see you’ve met Jason.” Bruce finished walked up to them and put his hand on top of Jason’s head. Which was weird. 

Weird and he hated it. 

When Jason pulled his head away and turned some so he was facing both Bruce and Selina, Bruce quickly pulled his hand back and said, “Oh, sorry, lad.” 

“I said get another cat, Bruce,” Selina said, grinning like she thought this entire thing was hilarious, “Not another kid.”

Bruce’s hand started to reach out, as if to set it on Jason’s shoulder before he paused and then shoved it into his pocket. 

“Perhaps you should have been clearer,” Bruce teased, smirking. Actually _smirking._ And oh god. 

“You have a _problem,_ Bruce Wayne,” she said, placing a hand on Bruce’s arm. 

Oh god. 

This was gonna get gross, wasn’t it? They were _flirting._

Jason had completely misread this woman entirely, hadn’t he?

“So this is your adult girlfriend,” Jason said, trying to stop whatever was happening, “I thought maybe you’d made her up to convince me to come here.”

“What?” Bruce said, stepping back from Selina, “Of course I didn’t-”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Selina interrupted. 

“Well, yes,” Bruce stammered, “I thought-”

“We broke up.”

“We did? What?” Bruce said, now looking at Selina with mostly just confusion, no real hurt on his face. Which was interesting. “When?”

“You were there, darling,” Selina honest to god _purred._

What was wrong with this lady. 

Or either of them, honestly?

“I don’t think I was.” 

“Oh,” she said, looking away for a second before shrugging, “Maybe you weren’t. But it happened. And was the ‘adult’ bit a comment on my age?”

“No,” he said, holding his hands up, like he expected her to lunge or something, “I was just making sure Jason knew I wasn’t into children.”

That made Selina turn back toward Jason, her smile back to that soft one that made Jason just want to run. “Oh, honey. Of course he’s not into children. I’d kill him if he were.” 

“ _Selina_.” 

“No offense, lady,” Jason said, crossing his arms, “but I doubt you could take him.”

Selina laughed and patted Bruce on the arm as she said, “Well, then I’d go tell all his little ‘friends.’ They’d skewer him.”

“Your _friends?_ ” Jason said skeptically. Because, again. No one at the manor. Damian acting like he never saw people. “What friends?”

“She meant the Justice League.” 

“You straight up adopted a child without even telling me, I can’t believe this.”

“I did not-” Bruce started to protest, echoing the exact thought Jason had. Because he had _not_ been adopted. He was pretty sure. He would be informed of such a thing, right? Bruce had _said_ live with him for a week, then foster care. So yeah. He hadn’t been. 

Besides, he was pretty sure he _couldn’t_ be adopted. What with his scumbag father in jail and all. 

“Shh,” she said, putting one of her fingers against Bruce’s lips, “You zip it. Where’d he even find you, kid?”

When Bruce _did_ zip it, Jason decided he maybe liked this lady. “Crime Alley.” 

“He just saw you on the street and picked you up?”

“Nah. I stole his tires.”

Selina grinned so wide it was infectious, and next thing Jason knew, he was smiling proudly. Because _damn yeah._ He had stolen Batman’s tires. Had he stopped at three, he would have gotten away with it, too. 

“I like this one,” she said, holding a hand out to summon Jason to follow her, “Come on, kid. I’ll tell you about all the things of his _I’ve_ stolen.”

“Selina,” Bruce whined, as Jason did, in fact, follow Selina to one of the living rooms, “Don’t encourage it.” 

“Shush,” she called back, as she shut the door between them and the hallway, “Don’t listen to him. I’m a great influence on children. I’ve been around Damian his entire life and he’s still a good kid.” 

“He’s also six,” Jason pointed out, but he didn’t actually care whether Selina would be a ‘good’ influence or not. He wasn’t a fucking piece of gum, susceptible to contamination from any little thing that he came into contact with. 

If he’d been easily movable, he would have turned into a gangbanger _years_ ago. 

Or a druggie. 

Or worse…

Hanging out with a thief Batman probably definitely liked enough to let around his infant son, it sounded like, was not going to turn him to the dark side. 

Besides, Selina seemed pretty awesome. Jason could already tell he was going to like her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't reply to comments as much as I should, but I love all your comments and cherish every one of them. I do at least try to answer questions, so don't be shy! 💕


	10. Intentions

“Why’d we break up?” Bruce asked, as soon as Selina came into his office several hours after she’d snatched Jason away to ‘chat.’

They’d played Monopoly, Bruce found out when he poked his head in an hour previous. From the looks of it, Jason was winning. He had also been smiling and laughing when Bruce checked, so he’d just as quietly slipped out to leave them be. That kid deserved happy smiles. Bruce wasn’t about to ruin it with his presence. 

“I’m seeing someone else,” Selina replied, throwing herself down at the couch, “Jealous?”

“Hm. Who are you seeing?”

Selina grinned and said, “Steve.”

“Steve who?” he asked, because he could think of a handful of Steves. Usually when she went off and dated someone else, it was because she was toying with them. Or Bruce had done something to anger her, and instead of telling him what it was, she got revenge on him by dating one of his business competitors. Just in time for a gala or ball.

Which was fine. Bruce never had a problem finding himself a date, either. Even if that usually made her angrier.

It was a game they played. One his therapist tsked at him over, but nonetheless. It was them. It was… almost fun.

“Rogers,” Selina said, and Bruce could just see the mischief in her eyes. 

So she wasn’t seeing anyone at all, then.

“You’re dating Captain America,” he deadpanned, returning his attention to the CPS files he’d been sifting through before she came in.

“I can’t believe you got that reference.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I have kids, you know. I think you’ve even met them.”

Selina rolled off the couch, much in the same way Dick would. Perhaps a little more slowly, though, where she almost flipped off backwards, showing off her acrobatic abilities, then walked over to stand behind Bruce.

It made Bruce miss Dick, just a little more for a second. Because he was usually the one hanging out on that same couch while Bruce worked. Babbling on about this or that, doing his homework. Keeping Bruce company. 

“Speaking of children,” she said, leaning against his back and reading over his shoulder, “When are you telling the new kid you’re adopting him?”

He sighed and sat up to face her, making her stand again. It’s not like he was getting any actual reading done anyway. At this point he was just staring at the screen. “I told you,” he said, “I’m not adopting him. He’s just staying here for a few more days.”

“That’s what he seems to think, too. He says you’re finding him a nice foster family.”

“Yes,” he pointed at the open file for the Kelly family, one he was seriously considering putting in the ‘maybe’ pile. They were clean, as far as he could tell. “That is what I’m doing right now.” 

“Hmm, Robert and Samantha Kelly,” she read, “two kids of their own. Four foster children. How sweet. They aren’t you.” 

“Selina,” he sighed. 

“Bruce,” she mocked back.

“He’s a good kid. He deserves better than-”

“Better than you?”

Yes, anywhere would be better than with Bruce.

Or, there were several places that would be, at least. Bruce was confident every foster family he’d put in the ‘maybe’ folder would be good. 

Because the fact of the matter was: Jason didn’t trust him. He could easily laugh and joke with Selina, mere hours after meeting her, but he still shied away from Bruce’s company. Still flinched whenever Bruce moved too quickly, still barred his bedroom door with a chair, still fidgeted at meal times, hid in the library.

Jason didn’t trust Bruce, and Bruce couldn’t blame him. 

While Bruce couldn’t find any recorded evidence of abuse against Jason, the picture Jason himself was painting was a rather bleak one. He was nervous and scared of adults. He was anxious when it came to food, and people controlling his food. And he was jumpy when it came to men and the attention of those men. 

He needed to live in a home with a woman, most likely. That would probably be the quickest way to earn his trust help him heal from his trauma. Their best bet, in that regard.

His relationship with Catherine Todd must have been good was all Bruce could think of to explain it. And bad, with Willis. 

Bruce still needed to tell Jason about Willis….

“Better than what he’s gotten,” Bruce said, “and yes, better than what I can provide.” 

“You’re so full of it, Bruce Wayne.” 

“Indeed,” Alfred said, startling Bruce just slightly. Not that he’d _ever_ admit that. But Alfred could do that. Startle him. And did, quite often. “I took the liberty of brewing some tea.” 

“You are a saint, Alfred.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, after Selina had grabbed her cup and he offered the tray to Bruce, “Now what is Master Bruce doing this time?”

“He says he’s not adopting Jason.” 

“Ah, yes. You really ought to have a discussion with Master Jason.”

“Alfred,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his eyes, “he’s not staying with us.”

“Isn’t he, sir?” 

“Oh, he totally is,” Selina said, grinning victoriously at him, “That kid is never leaving.”

“No, he’s not,” Bruce asserted, turning back to his computer to pull up his folder of families, “I have quite a few families picked out for him, I just need to sit him down and let him decide.” 

“And why have you not sat him down, then?” Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

Honestly? Because none of the families were jumping out at him as the _perfect_ home for Jason. Each clean one he found was ‘good enough,’ probably, but none just struck him as downright amazing and perfect for a child like Jason. The kid was so smart, he would benefit greatly from a lot of attention and nurturing. And most of the homes Bruce looked at had more than a handful of children.

And once Batman turned over his findings about the corrupt foster families and social workers in the city, there would only be more children in each home, not fewer….

“I’m being thorough.” 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred chastised, and Bruce ducked his head.

“I just want to help him,” he said, frowning at the screen. He _did._ That was his honest to God only intention.

“Yes, and we both know what you meant by ‘help’ when you said the same thing about Master Dick.”

“I don’t want to… keep him.”

Selina scoffed loudly, and Alfred shot her a look that shut her up in her tracks. Usually seeing Alfred aim his ire at adults other than him was endlessly amusing to Bruce, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than uneasy at the conversation.

“Don’t you, sir?”

“No, but” he said slowly, looking back at his screen and flipping to his web browser. Where he’d pulled up the website to various schools around the region, “what do you think about sending him to boarding school?”

If they did that, he could keep an eye on Jason’s education and make sure he got nothing but the best. With his pull, he’d be able to get Jason into any of the schools, no problem, he was sure. Even if the term started in a week. And he’d find one with an awesome staff. A mix of male and female caregivers. Most he’d already looked at seemed to have very supportive caregivers, anyway. None of them were in Gotham, after all. 

All he got from both Selina and Alfred were unimpressed looks, so he said, “Instead of finding him a family? I just…” he took a deep breath, then admitted, “don’t think I can trust any of these people to give him what he needs.” 

“There it is,” Selina said. 

“Be honest in your intentions, sir.”

Bruce scowled and looked up. “I am being honest with him.” 

“I meant with yourself.” 

Finding what was best for Jason _was_ his intention. He didn’t understand why no one believed him. 

\- - - 

It was after dinner that night when Bruce finally confronted Jason.

Alfred and Selina had left him alone, after their conversation. He had a lot of thinking to do, apparently. 

He spent most the time pulling together information on some of the better families he’d found and the better schools he’d picked out. 

Because, yes. Okay. He’d admit it. He wouldn’t be against ‘keeping’ Jason. But Jason Peter Todd was _not_ a dog. He was not a stray animal Bruce could just bring home and keep forever.

Jason was a child, and he deserved to choose for himself what happened to him. And after everything in life Jason had been through, he _deserved_ a little bit of control over his own life. 

So as dinner was wrapping up, and Jason started slowing down in his eating, something he did when he was full but didn’t want to admit it and turn down food, Bruce spoke up.

“Jason,” he said, resisting the urge to frown when Jason tensed ever-so-slightly, “we need to chat.”

That just made Jason tense further, more visibly as he looked to Damian, for what, Bruce wasn’t sure. 

Damian shrugged, so Jason turned to Bruce said said, “What about?”

“The future,” Bruce said, as he placed his napkin on the table and stood, “Why don’t we retire to my study?”

“You aren’t changing the deal again, are you?” Jason said, looking at Bruce almost warily as he, too, stood to follow. 

“Of course not.” 

Once in the study, Bruce motioned for Jason to sit on the couch as he sat down at his desk and pulled out the folders he’d prepared. 

Jason was so small, sitting on the couch. It was hard to look at him and remember that he was twelve. He was older than Dick was when Bruce adopted him. Much older than Dick was when he’d become Robin. 

He was _tiny_ , and yet there was so much maturity in him. Maturity, intelligence, kindness, resourcefulness…. 

But also distrust… anxiety…fears… 

Too many. 

Just the way he started picking at the hem of his shirt was enough to make Bruce just say, ‘you know what, never mind. You’re staying here.’ 

It was hard. To trust another person with the child Bruce could see. He knew, in his head, that any one of the families he’d chosen would be _fine._ But it still worried him. 

What if Social Services didn’t leave him put? They could move him, constantly. Jump him from home to home for the rest of his childhood. 

That was not what Jason needed. Jason needed stability. He needed stable parents. Stable adults in his life. He needed to learn to trust people, and not have that trust betrayed. Bruce was afraid that if he didn’t form some sort of healthy attachment it would harm him. Permanently. 

But he couldn’t think of all that. Because choosing for Jason would be worse, he thought. Right now he needed to lay the options out and let Jason decide for himself. 

So Bruce did. He handed Jason the folder of foster families and watched as he spent a few minutes flipping through, looking at the pictures, and reading the summaries. All Jason did was frown at them, though. He didn’t seem overly enthused about the prospect of a new family.

“If you pick a foster family,” Bruce said, after Jason had reached the end of the stack and started over, “we need to get the paperwork going before I turn in my report on the bad families.”

“Why?” he asked, not even looking up from the papers, like he was completely uninterested. 

Jason might like the second option better.

“Because, there are going to be thousands of displaced children, and Social Services is going to be swamped with work placing them.”

“Where will all the kids go?” Jason asked, pulling his legs up on the couch to sit criss cross. He looked up at Bruce briefly, then back down at the papers. 

“Likely into already existing families, for now. It will take a while for them to find and approve new families. Especially since I assume the standards will be strengthened because of this.”

Nodding, Jason smiled just slightly before he frowned and said, “But all of these families already have at least six kids each.”

“I know. But there are a lot of families who were approved to foster adopt or foster just one child, like I was. Social Services will likely start by reaching out to all of them to see if they are willing to take on some of the children.”

“Will they say yes?”

Bruce shrugged. It was hard to say, honestly. A few of the families might be willing, but a lot just wanted their one specific child. Or they had just been approved to foster the child of one of their friends. Or a kid they knew, like Bruce, through some special circumstance. There was really no telling how many would be willing to take in random children caught up in the scandal of the century.

“Some might.”

“Would you?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at Bruce. 

And all Bruce could do was grimace. Because “No, we can’t risk it….”

“Because of Batman,” Jason said, nodding, like he’d expected that answer.

“Right. Bringing in random children is too big a risk. But I will do everything I can to make sure each of them find the loving home they deserve.”

“Sure,” Jason agreed, then asked, “Why’d you let _me_ in your house?”

“I like you, Jason.”

“Not like that,” Bruce shot back, more exasperated than defensive at this point, when Jason made a disgusted face, “You’re a good kid, you needed help.” 

“You keep saying that,” Jason said, waving his hand around, as if dismissing the reasoning, “but you met me because I was literally stealing from you.”

“Because you _had_ to. Not because you wanted to.”

Snorting, Jason added, “Selina _wants_ to.”

“She’s more complicated than that. She has, in the past, stolen because she had to. Now it’s mostly in a Robin Hood sort of way. Because her target was already stolen, and she’s returning it. Or she’s getting something out of unsavory hands. Not because she _wants_ to. And she never keeps things for herself.”

“Unless they’re yours,” Jason said, grinning. Like he’d been let in on some massive joke, and Bruce supposed he had been. 

They’d really covered a lot in their few hours together, hadn’t they?

Bruce was not jealous. At all. 

“Unless they’re mine,” he agreed.

Jason’s grin faded as he started chewing on the side of his cheek. “Selina’s pretty cool,” he said slowly, looking everywhere but at Bruce.

“I agree.”

Jason looked down at his lap, then started slowly sorting through the papers again. “So there’s gonna be a lot of kids in the house with me.”

“Yes.”

“So no ones gonna pay me much attention,” he said, nodding thoughtfully, “and you _swear_ they’re good people?”

“Yes. As far as I can tell, these are the best Gotham has to offer,” he said, frowning at the idea Jason wouldn’t get much attention, “You’ll also be up for adoption, there’s a chance someone will-”

“What? Why?” Jason demanded, cutting Bruce off, “My social worker said they couldn’t do that since Dad was in jail ’n stuff.”

“Jason…” Bruce said, sitting up and trying to look as sympathetic as possible to deliver the news.

But he didn’t have to, because Jason seemed to read it on Bruce. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” The flatness of Jason’s voice, the absolute lack of emotion in the question. In his _eyes,_ made Bruce frown. 

“Yes, he is. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Jason said, shrugging as he sank back into the couch, crossing his arms, “I don’t care.” 

“You don’t?”

Shaking his head, Jason scrubbed at the corner of his eye and said, “Too bad he didn’t die sooner. Then maybe I coulda been placed easier, like the social worker said.”

“What? What did she say?”

Shrugging again, he said, “Just that I was so ‘little and cute’ I woulda been easy to adopt out of the system. But now I’m 12, so I’m too old.” 

_I would adopt you,_ Bruce thought, then shook his head to clear that. Anyone who spent more than five seconds with the boy would adopt him, he was sure. Jason was just that great of a kid. 

“Do you want to be adopted?”

“No,” Jason said, quickly. Like he’d already decided this a long time ago. “I don’t need parents. I can take care of myself. Parents would just be annoying and what if they suck? And I’m stuck with them? I’ll be 18 in _six years,_ so no thank you.”

That was pretty much exactly how Bruce expected Jason to react. He’d been surprised, thus far, how receptive to a foster family Jason had been. Even if it seemed to be reluctant receptiveness. But he was likely making contingency plans in his head to run away, _again,_ if everything went south. Probably ones that avoided getting him caught by Batman, too. 

“There’s another option,” Bruce said, pulling the second folder of print-outs he’d prepared. The more Bruce thought about it, the more he realized boarding school was the best option. Kids in boarding school were kept busy, he knew, but constructively. And the supervision they got was not the kind Jason seemed to fear so badly. That of a parent. 

“Another family?” Jason asked, scowling at Bruce, “You gave me like fifty here.” 

“No,” he said, leaning over the desk to hand the folder to Jason, “another option, other than foster care.”

Jason looked at him skeptically, then opened the folder. “School?” he asked, shaking his head and flipping through the first packet. 

The information on top was for a boarding school in upstate New York Bruce was partial to. It was the best coed school in the country for academics and had an exceptional staff. It was also far away from all cities, and in a very low-crime area. It was, in all honesty, perfect for Jason. It got him away from everything and would set him on the right path in life. 

But there were seven other options in the pile, including one located in Europe. There was plenty of choice for Jason. 

“A boarding school,” Bruce explained, “They’d provide you with food and shelter and an excellent education.”

“Tch,” he huffed, “I haven’t been to school in _years._ These kinda snooty places have really high standards. No offense, but I doubt I’d pass muster.”

Bruce blinked, then narrowed his eyes at Jason. Because the kid was _still_ calling himself stupid. While saying something like ‘pass muster.’ At the age of twelve. “I think you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes and dropping the folder down on the couch next to him, “you said that, but how would you know?”

“Because I’ve spent the past week with you, Jason.”

That made Jason roll his eyes harder before saying, “I’m already going to be the street trash. I don’t want to be the stupid kid, too.” 

“You are not trash,” Bruce said a tad too harshly, because Jason’s relaxed demeanor disappeared at the tone, “so don’t call yourself that. And you are _not_ stupid.” 

“Fine,” he huffed, “whatever. But the other kids won’t agree with you.” 

Fair enough. 

Kids could be cruel, he knew. But he was sure Jason would make plenty of friends, especially with his roommates, since the boys would be spending so much time together. It was hard to believe something wrong about a person while living with them, after all. And Bruce was certain anyone who spent any amount of time with Jason would see the bright and happy a child he was, deep inside. 

Bruce ran a hand over his face and just observed Jason for a moment. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll order placement tests. If you aren’t at grade level, Alfred and I will help you catch up by the next term, and _then_ we’ll enroll you in the boarding school of your choice. How’s that?”

“You’d,” Jason started, just to stop and blink at Bruce. He was frozen, just staring. Not tense, not scared. Just stuck. “You’d do that for me?” 

“Of course,” Bruce said without hesitation. 

“But why?” he demanded, “This is…. These schools are _so expensive.”_

“I feel like we’ve established I can afford it,” Bruce said, then sighed. He stood and walked around the desk, so he could kneel in front of Jason. 

Jason, by some miracle, just stayed sitting there, perfectly still, as he stared off into the distance. 

“You deserve a chance, Jason,” Bruce said, once they were at eye level, “Just let me give it to you.”

“But I’m…” Jason started, then finally, for the first time, Bruce thought, made eye contact and said, ‘I’m just a….” 

“You’re not ‘ _just a’_ anything. You are Jason Todd. A person. A kind, intelligent, funny, brave, _resourceful_ person. You have so much potential in you, I just want you to realize it.”

After a moment, Jason started nodding slowly, so Bruce smiled and pat his knee. “Is this what you want?”

His focus shifted from Bruce’s face to his hand, but then back again. “Yeah. Yeah, if- if-” he paused to take a deep breath, then finished, “Yes.” 

“Great,” Bruce said, putting some cheer into his voice as he stood, “Now, in order to send you to boarding school, I’m going to have to establish guardianship over you.”

 _That_ started Jason. “What?”

“Yes. You can’t go to school without having some sort of guardian. That’s not how it works. If you’d rather I find another foster parent willing-”

“No,” Jason said harshly, “No new people.”

“Well,” Bruce said, fighting a smile, “we’ll likely have at least one social worker visit, who will be new to you, but I have enough lawyers that I feel confident promising you that’s it.”

“What would…. guardianship mean?”

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean, Jason,” he said gently, “It can mean this is the home you come to for Christmas and summer breaks. Or it can just be a name on a piece of paper in the administration office and you spend those breaks with the friends you make. It’s-it’s your choice. I’m not trying to trap you.”

“And you’re for real?” Jason asked. And the hint of challenge in his voice was far outweighed by the absolute _hope_ in his eyes. The hope and excitement and awe of the idea of going to school. A _good_ school.

All Bruce could do was smile. “Yes, I’m for real. No tricks, no traps.” 

“No, this is… an education. It’s.. the opposite of trapping me. You’re giving me…. You don’t want _anything_ in return?”

“What I want,” Bruce started, kneeling back down to be at Jason’s level again and placing his hand back on Jason’s knee, “is for you to grow up to be the best person you can. Seeing you make a difference in the world, in whatever way you do, is all the payment I need.”

“You’re so _weird,”_ Jason said, but he was smiling as he did, so Bruce took it as acceptance of his motive, rather than a challenge.

“So I’ve been told.” Bruce squeezed Jason’s knee and stood again, this time walking back over to sit at his desk. “This means you’ll stay here until January, when the next term starts.”

Jason nodded. Bruce could tell a hint of anxiety over that was starting to seep back in again, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as a week ago. Or even a few hours ago. 

“You’re safe here, I promise.”

“Okay,” Jason said, still nodding, “Can I go now?”

“Sure, I’ll let you know when the placement tests arrive.” 

“Okay!” he said, hopping up and bounding to the door. He paused, though, and turned around sheepishly, just long enough to stutter out, “Uhhh. Th-Thanks, Bruce.” 

“My pleasure,” Bruce said, even though Jason was already half way down the hall. 

_Be honest in your intentions,_ indeed. He was being honest. He wanted the best for Jason, even if that meant keeping Jason around for several more months. 

Jason hadn’t even been there a week, and already he’d brought so much life back to the manor. Damian was running around, yelling at the top of his lungs again. Babbling on and having fun. His carefree attitude was pulling Jason out, too. Little by little. Bruce had seen them jumping on the trampoline the day before, after all. Carrying on and having a good time. Yelling at each other and squealing like kids were supposed to do. 

The more time they spent together, the more like a child Jason was starting to act. 

And that _was_ what was best for him. A few more months of it would be nothing but good for him. And sure, a boarding school wasn’t a good family, but it was a good education. It was supervision and structure, perhaps in the only form Jason would accept at this point in his life. After depending on himself for far too long, at far too young an age. 

If it just happened to come with the added bonus of possible summers back at the manor, so what? It was _Jason’s_ choice, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! Even if it sucks. 😂 <3 you guys so much.


	11. Sandwich

Bruce was one efficient SOB when he wanted to be. Not even five minutes after Jason had agreed to the whole boarding-school-idea, Bruce had a social worker over at the manor, approving the entire living arrangement and saying ‘oh how wonderful,’ when Bruce explained about the school thing.

Okay, and maybe ‘five minutes’ was exaggerating a bit, but it was the next day. And now Jason Todd was the official foster child of Bruce Wayne.

Which meant he was kind of… officially living at Wayne Manor. Like, legally. And publicly. Even if it were only until January. The press hadn’t caught wind of it yet, but it was only a matter of time, Bruce had said.

If Jason’s dad were still alive, he would have been doing everything in his power to extort Bruce, Jason was sure.

That was still a _thing,_ too. Willis. Being dead. He’d known a week, now, and it still hadn’t fully clicked into his head. It’s not like he thought about his dad often, anyway. But now every time he did, the very next thought was ‘he’s dead now.’ And Jason still couldn’t find it in himself to _care._

Damian had just frowned at him when he said that, but Alfred had said, “that is perfectly fine, young sir.” Alfred was probably right. It’s not like Willis would have cared if _Jason_ died, after all. He was always whining about how expensive he was.

Speaking of Damian, that kid was really fucking annoying.

The stupid brat wouldn’t leave him alone for one day. _Jason come play with my legos. Jason come color with me. Jason come watch a movie with me. Jason, Jason, Jason._

Seriously, couldn’t Wayne afford a nanny for the brat? _Pay_ someone to entertain his spawn so he’d leave Jason alone?

Perhaps that was why Bruce kept Jason around. To entertain Damian. That’s why he was willing to pay so much money for school, so he could have someone around in the summers to play with Damian, now that his adopted kid ran away.

Jason kind of doubted that was true, considering Bruce kept telling Damian he had to ask permission to ‘play’ with Jason, and wasn’t allowed to just demand it. _And_ Bruce had said Jason didn’t have to come back here for summers.

But still.

It was a possibility.

Maybe Jason should actually say no sometimes, when Damian asked. Usually he just rolled his eyes and let the little punk drag him to whatever room. He was only doing that to stay on Bruce’s good side, though. That was it. He absolutely did not enjoy playing with the kid five years his junior. Not at all.

Jason idly thought about all that while he sat at the breakfast table, politely eating the breakfast Alfred had prepared them.

Alfred was the real boss of the house, he’d come to learn. He controlled all the food, so Jason was extra careful not to upset him. He’d even stopped cussing in front of him, per Damian’s suggestion. And since table manners mattered to Alfred, he even kept his elbows off the table and ate with his mouth shut. He _could_ be sophisticated, thank you very much.

Damian was sitting on the opposite side of the table from him, similarly eating French toast. Just not nearly as quietly. Instead, he was babbling on about some new toy he really _really_ wanted, trying to convince Wayne to buy it for him.

It was actually pretty funny how often Bruce told Damian ‘no’ to requests for more things. But Jason did not laugh when the man said, “Don’t you already have a race car track?” five minutes into Damian’s description of the toy.

“Yes,” Damian exasperated, “but this one is shaped like a pirate ship.”

 _Why would cars be driving around a pirate ship,_ Jason wondered while he scraped up some of the delicious maple syrup onto his last bite of french toast. He kind of wanted to just lick the plate clean, the syrup was so rich and amazing.

Before he could, though, Bruce reached over with his fork and absently pulled another slice of toast from the pile in the middle of the table onto Jason’s plate.

He didn’t even look at Jason as he did so, but continued speaking with Damian. “Where would you keep this at?”

“In my room,” Damian announced happily, seeming to think Bruce was about to agree to buy him the toy.

Jason just eyed them both before shrugging and cutting up his new piece of toast.

“Are you going to get rid of something?”

“No,” Damian said, frowning now, “I have room for it.”

“You do not. I can hardly walk in your room now, you have so much on the floor.”

Jason tuned them out as he finished off his French toast and glass of orange juice. Even though Bruce still wasn’t letting him serve his own food, he still also wasn’t finishing meals hungry. And since he was trying _really hard_ to trust that there would be another meal, he wasn’t letting it get to him.

Just as Jason was about to gather up his dishes and bring them to the kitchen for Alfred, though, Bruce abruptly turned to him and asked, “Are you still hungry?”

“What?” Jason asked, staring at Bruce. Because he’d never been asked that.

Bruce looked to the toast, then back at Jason. “Would you like another piece? Or are you full?”

“I-” Jason started, then stopped to stare at the three remaining pieces of toast. He _wasn’t_ hungry. But turning down food also wasn’t a thing he did. And the French toast was _delicious._ Absolutely amazing.

“We’ll put it in the fridge, and you can eat more later, if you’re full.”

It took a minute, of staring at the food and glancing at Bruce, before Jason finally said, slowly, “I’m not hungry.” Because he wasn’t. And he knew he had all those bars hidden in his room, just in case Wayne was lying about being able to eat later.

Although he doubted he was lying. That just didn’t seem like something Bruce would do.

Bruce smiled at him like he’d just won the freaking lottery or something equally as exciting to already rich people. “There are always leftovers in the fridge, if you ever get hungry between meals. Help yourself.”

“Okay,” Jason said, nodding. He’d have to keep that in mind. Did midnight count as ‘between meals?’ He wondered if he’d get in trouble for getting up in the middle of the night, if he ever woke up hungry.

So far he hadn’t gotten ‘in trouble,’ but he was sure it was only a matter of time. The thought Bruce was just being nice and kind to him long enough to earn his trust made his stomach twist a little, so he started searching for a distraction.

Thankfully, Damian provided that distraction by skipping back into the room, after he’d put his dishes away. “Jason,” he said, a bit too loudly for inside, “want to play on the playground?”

“You have a playground?” he asked skeptically, because he’d been outside with Damian. Several times. He hadn’t once seen a playground.

“Yeah,” Damian said, grinning wide, “it’s in the back. I’ll show you it!”

“Why do you have your own playground?” Jason asked, scowling now. But of course Bruce Wayne would waste the money on a whole playground for his kid. Jason wasn’t sure what those things cost, but he figured it was probably a lot. There was a reason cities usually paid to put them up instead of individuals.

“So we can play on it, duh,” Damian said, bounding over to grab Jason’s hand and try to drag him, “come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed out, shaking Damian off and gathering up his dishes.

As he walked to the kitchen, he heard Bruce say, “Bring Ace and your phone.”

“I know,” Damian nearly shouted as he followed Jason, then said softer, “this is going to be so fun.”

First off, the Wayne Estate was way too big. Because once Damian led him outside, they went through the gardens and then over a hill, where there was, indeed, a playground hiding.

But then, the playground ended up being more than what Jason expected. It really was like something found in a city park. There were platforms, monkey bars, slides, swings… basically everything a playground needed.

Jason was reminded of the park down on Scott Street where he’d sometimes sleep in the tunnel between a couple of the platforms. He hadn’t been there in a while, though, because last time he was there some lady brought her kids to the park after sunset and had called the police on him. Which was a shame, because it was usually pretty safe and the breeze went through the tunnel just right to keep it cool.

Damian ran once they got closer, and leapt up toward the monkey bars. It was actually pretty impressive, the way the kid flipped himself up on top, but he supposed that’s what happens when your brother is Robin.

Ace climbed up the stairs and sat at the top of the playground, while Damian stood on top of the bars and started walking across.

As soon as Jason finished walking to the playground, because like hell was he going to waste energy running when it was unnecessary, Damian shouted, “The ground is lava,” and jumped from the monkey bars to the bars surrounding one of the higher platforms.

“What does that mean?” Jason asked as he reached up for one of the monkey bars. He wanted to see if he could get himself up top, as well. He was pretty sure he could, just probably not with as much grace as Damian.

Flipping himself over the bars and onto the platform, Damian said, “It _means_ the ground is lava and will kill you if you keep standing on it.”

Jason scowled as he lost his grip on the bar and had to actually use the ladder to reach them. This wasn’t much different than getting up onto fire escapes, after all. Once he’d gotten a good hold on the bar, that is. Usually with fire escapes he had to climb up on dumpsters or boxes or something. So the ladder was pretty helpful.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Jason asked.

“It’s a game.”

Finally, he was able to swing his weight and get his legs hooked on one of the bars, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Thats a dumb game.”

“Well what kind of games do you like to play?”

“I don’t play games,” he snapped, as he looked at where Damian had jumped to. It was only a few feet away, but it seemed like a stupid risk to be taking for no good reason. What if he fell? And broke his leg? Then he wouldn’t be able to run at all. And that just seemed like a stupid thing to do. Risks like that weren’t worth it.

“Sure you do, we play games all the time.”

“No,” Jason huffed, sitting back down on the bars to just rest. Sitting still and enjoying the nice summer sun sounded way better than whatever the heck Damian was doing, “I just go along with whatever you want. _I_ don’t play games.”

Damian frowned and slid down the nearest slide, then hopped back up on the top of the bars, as if it were nothing, to sit next to Jason. “Why not? They’re fun.”

The ease at which Damian did all this just annoyed Jason more. Which was dumb. Because it was a stupid playground. And Damian probably knew every inch of it just as well as he knew his own house, which is why he knew exactly how to run and jump at it to do what he wanted.

Bruce probably took Damian out here all the time. Bruce or Dick. The stupid brat had likely grown up playing on this playground, with his dad or big brother there to teach him these stupid games.

“What’s even the point of games?” he asked, crossing his arms as he looked back toward the manor. He should have said no to coming to the playground.

“To have fun? How do _you_ play on the playground, then?”

“I don’t _play_ on playgrounds,” Jason said, turning to scowl at Damian. He couldn’t remember a single time he’d played on a playground. Not even in school did he ever ‘play’ on a playground. His school didn’t even have one. They usually played kickball in the lot.

“Why not?” Damian asked, and the absolute confusion on his face was not helping at all. Stupid kid and his stupid sheltered life. “Everyone plays. Even Dad.”

“Not really any time to play when you’re busy finding enough food to eat,” Jason snapped, ready to just hop down and go inside. He’d go find a nice book to read and ignore Damian for the rest of the day.

Yes. That would be way better than ‘playing.’

“Well,” Damian said slowly, frowning, “Alfred will make sure you get enough to eat, so you don’t have to do that. You can play.”

What if that weren’t even true? Jason wasn’t one of Bruce’s kids. He was the random street rat he’d picked up and decided to send to school. But what if he messed up? What if he made Alfred mad? Or upset Damian? Would they still be nice and feed him? What if he failed the placement tests and Bruce finally realized how stupid he was and how he couldn’t be helped enough to get into boarding school?

Then what?

They’d throw him back out on the street, he was sure.

He didn’t even want to think about what the alternative would be, since he knew _the_ secret and all. Batman didn’t kill. Right?

“Yeah, for _now,”_ he snapped, finally hopping down. He was going inside. If he upset Damian by ditching him, then whatever. At least he’d find out quicker what happened when he did so.

“What do you mean?” Damian whined, jumping down and chasing after him, “It’s his job, he’s not gonna stop feeding us. Besides, he likes doing it.”

“Never mind,” Jason shouted as he started to run.

“Wait, Jason!”

“Leave me alone!” Once he reached the patio door, he slammed it shut, making all the glass rattle as he did. He didn’t pause long enough to cringe at that, and continued straight to ‘his’ room, where he slammed that door, too.

Why was he even mad? Damian was just a kid, and that was a stupid thing to blow up about. Damian was right, they _did_ play games. But now Jason had gone and ruined that. Now Damian would hate him and never want to play with him again.

Bruce would be mad he’d made Damian upset, and he’d come to fix it.

He’d know what getting in trouble was like, now. Maybe they’d just go ahead and kick him out. Jason would kick him out. Feed him all this food and pay money to buy him school stuff and placement tests and clothes and promise to pay tens of thousands of dollars for school and the way Jason repaid them was by yelling at the 6-year-old over nothing and slamming doors.

Before he knew he’d retrieved it, he pulled out his backpack and hugged it tightly. If he were going to get kicked out, he was going to have this backpack. Hopefully.

He looked around and decided to just sit with his back against the dresser, the dresser between him and the door. At least this way he’d have a little bit of time before Bruce found him. It’s not like there were good places to hide in this room. Not without cornering himself, like he would do in the closet or bathroom.

It only took a minute before someone was knocking on his door. “Jason,” Bruce said, and at least his voice didn’t sound too angry. Yet. “Lad, are you all right?”

All Jason could do was hold a little tighter to his bag as he pushed himself closer to the dresser. His heart was pounding and he couldn’t figure out how to make his voice work. Or whether he even _wanted_ to.

“Can I come in?” Bruce asked.

_Boy, open the damn door._

“No,” he forced out, trying not to freeze on the memory of him hiding in his mother’s room, exactly like this, years ago.

_Open the fucking door. If I have to knock it down you’ll be fucking so-_

Jason flinched when Bruce knocked again and said, so gently, “What’s wrong, Jay?”

That made him bury his face into the bag and curl up a little tighter. Jay. His dad used to call him that, too. Maybe. His mom did, for sure.

It hurt to hear it, now. They always called him Jay when being soft and gentle. When everyone was happy. During dinners that Jason wished could have lasted forever. He used to love hearing it.

Now they were both dead.

He choked on a sob as he tried his hardest to keep it in. Crying just makes everything worse.

Why did he even _care?_

“Okay,” Bruce said, sighing loudly. But instead of forcing his way in, he said, “I’ll be in the library if you want to talk.”

Bruce wasn’t Jason’s dad, he kept proving over and over. Because he did, indeed, retreat and walk down the hall, far away from Jason’s room.

And once he was gone, Jason gave in and finally started crying.

He hated his dad. He _hated_ him. It was Dad’s fault mom started using in the first place. Had he not been such an asshole, maybe she wouldn’t have needed to escape from it all. Had he not _left_ maybe she wouldn’t have gotten as bad as she did. Maybe she wouldn’t have died.

Eventually, he pushed the bag aside so he could hug his knees better. Once he’d started crying, it was hard to stop. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so, but it was probably a _long_ time ago. Crying just wasn’t something he did. Making that kind of noise wasn’t something he wanted to do on the street. It would attract people to his current hiding spot, and that meant nothing but bad things.

But Bruce already knew where he was hiding, and he didn’t seem to care.

That thought made him start up again, just as he was starting to calm down. He finally got himself back under control he had no idea how much later. But his head hurt, now. It felt both empty and inflamed, and he definitely needed a drink.

Getting up sounded like too much work, though, so he just sat there.

Just as he thought he might fall asleep, Bruce’s footsteps came back down the hall, and Jason stiffened.

“Jason, buddy,” he said, knocking on the door again, “are you okay in there?”

And out of all the reactions Jason could have had, he started crying again. Because Bruce was so nice. Why was he like that? Jason kind of wanted it to stop, if it were going to, before he got too used to it.

“Can I come in?” Bruce asked, to which Jason couldn’t respond. Because of the whole crying thing. When Jason didn’t reply, Bruce added, “I brought you lunch.”

“Okay,” Jason said, after taking a deep breath and forcing himself to stop before he got up to let Bruce in. He didn’t think he’d said it loud enough, but then the door slowly opened.

He didn’t lock the door, he suddenly realized. And yet Bruce hadn’t come in until Jason said ‘okay.’

And there was the crying again. He hated himself now, for doing it right in front of Bruce.

But Bruce didn’t say anything about it. He walked over to where Jason was hiding and frowned before he sat himself down, a few feet in front of Jason.

Jason thought it looked kind of ridiculous, the way he sat. A giant man like Bruce sitting on the floor, criss cross applesauce. He laughed a little at that, and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.

Bruce’s lip turned up slightly as he said, “I didn’t know what kind of sandwiches you like, so I made you a ham and cheese. It’s a classic.”

“You made it?” Jason asked, reaching out and taking the plate when offered.

“I can cook,” Bruce said, “Don’t act so surprised.”

Jason let out an actual laugh at that, at the absurdness of the statement. Because putting a piece of meat and cheese on bread was _not_ cooking. He told Bruce as much.

“You and Dick would get along. He, too, likes making fun of me.”

Smiling a little, Jason took a bite and said, “You cook a good sandwich.”

“Thank you. Finally some recognition.”

Jason sniffed and wiped his face one more time before he kept eating. He felt kind of weird, just sitting there eating a sandwich _Bruce Wayne_ made him, after crying his eyes out. Like a _baby._

After yelling at Damian over something stupid…

But Bruce didn't seem mad at him.

“For what it’s worth,” Bruce said, after they’d sat there for a minute, “Damian is _really_ sorry he upset you. He told me to emphasize the ‘really.’”

Shaking his head, Jason finished the bite he was eating and said, “He didn’t.”

“I figured as much.” Bruce seemed to wait for Jason to talk more, but when he didn’t added, “Want to tell me what did?”

Jason scrubbed his eye, because it was trying to let more tears out, and Jason was _done_ with that. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I mean,” Jason said, then paused to take a breath, “I don’t know why…”

“That’s okay, Jason,” Bruce said, reaching out to pat his knee briefly before taking his hand back, “You’ve had a lot of things happen to you and a lot of change happen very fast. It’s perfectly okay to feel this way.”

Jason nodded. Why would he cry about being kidnapped by a literal billionaire, though? One who just did it because he wanted to _feed_ him? He wouldn’t. That was a dumb reaction.

“I hate my dad,” he said, because it was a thought that kept reappearing in his mind, “I should be happy he’s dead.”

Bruce frowned, but nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s okay to feel that way.”

“Then, why am I….” Jason put the empty plate down next to him and buried his face down into his knees again. He didn’t want to cry more. He _wasn’t_ going to cry more.

“Jason,” Bruce said, putting his hand on Jason’s foot, “Lad. Hey. Look at me.”

Jason peeked back up over his knees to look at Bruce, so Bruce shook his foot and continued.

“It’s okay to not know how you feel. Some days you’ll be happy, and that’s okay. Other days you’ll miss him, and that’s also okay. He was your dad, and family tends to do that to us. Gives us mixed feelings.”

His lips wobbled as he nodded, so he took a deep, steadying breath before he spoke. “Why couldn’t he just be… better? Why’d he have to be a crook? Didn’t he _care_ about us?”

And the breath didn’t matter.

Because he was crying again.

Bruce just squeezed where he was still holding onto the top of his foot, and Jason thought it was weird he found it a little comforting.

“He’s an idiot if he didn’t care about you,” Bruce paused, almost seeming to hesitate, before he added, “I care about you.”

“Really?” Jason asked, and his voice definitely squeaked. But he didn't care. He’d already been crying his eyes out in front of Bruce, so it’s not like he could sink any further.

“Of course. I’ve only known you two weeks and I already know you’re a great kid.”

Jason lost it completely again and buried his face down into his knees so at least he wouldn’t have to see Bruce watch him cry.

Bruce scooted to be next to Jason, from the sounds of it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look. Or really even care.

If Bruce had wanted to hurt him, he would have done it already. No. Bruce wasn’t anything like his father. Crying clearly wasn’t something that bothered him.

Bruce slowly put a hand on Jason’s back and started rubbing circles. And Jason hated how it made him want to cry harder.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he _stop?_

“It’s all right,” Bruce said. He kept up with the back thing, and continued repeating various versions of ‘it’s okay,’ until Jason finally, completely stopped.

When he sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve, Bruce retracted his hand and set it on his own knee.

It was weird, how absolutely relaxed he felt. Sitting next to Bruce. He actually wouldn’t be against Bruce putting his hand back. Maybe.

“Are you still hungry?” Bruce asked, after they’d sat quietly for a couple minutes and Jason began playing with the few breadcrumbs on the plate.

“A little,” he admitted, because he was. That was weird for him, too. To still be hungry after a sandwich. This regular meals thing was really screwing with his appetite.

He figured that was probably actually a good thing.

“Good, because I think there is some ice cream downstairs with our names on it.”

“Really?” Jason hadn’t had ice cream in so long. It used to be his favorite treat, back when Mom was still doing well and they could afford more than the cheapest instant meals Jason could find. Eating ice cream late at night, after they’d been awoken by the neighbors fighting, or police sirens sitting outside the building, or even just a storm or bad dreams. Some of his favorite moments with his mom were sitting in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, debating which flavor was best.

“Yeah,” Bruce said, once he’d stood. He offered his hand to Jason and added, “I bet we can even find some whipped cream if we try.”

Jason took the hand and let Bruce pull him to his feet. “That sounds good.”

Bruce set a hand on Jason’s back and led him out of the room. And Jason felt okay with that.

He kind of wished he hadn’t cried in front of Bruce, but…. He really did feel a lot better now. Like a massive weight had been lifted off him, as cliched as it sounded. Now he understood why it was a phrase used so often in the books he read.

And maybe…. Maybe Bruce really didn’t want anything from him? Because had he just been using Jason, he was fairly certain this would have ruined it. But no. Instead, he’s still being nice.

Maybe that wouldn’t stop, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU KASY! She helped a lot with this chapter, so thanks for being so awesome. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for all your nice comments last week. Y'all really pulled me out of that stupid rut, so thanks. Love you guys. ❤️❤️


	12. Movie

Damian had mixed feelings about starting school. He’d been looking forward to it all summer, because it meant he would have more to do during the day. Without Dick around, summer was pretty boring. 

Figaro had helped with that, though. A little. Jason had helped a whole bunch.

Even if Dad said Damian had to back off and quit demanding all of Jason’s attention all the time. They still played several more times before Damian had to start school. 

But, as it turned out, his teacher was pretty awesome. Her name was Mrs. Kaprowski and she said they were going to do all sorts of fun projects that year. And the kid he was sitting next to was pretty cool and didn’t care at all that Damian was only 6. So yeah, school was going to be great. 

Jason also started school, according to Dad. Alfred and Dad were ‘homeschooling’ him this semester, which meant he got to stay home all day, but since he was going to be doing homework the whole time, Damian guessed it wasn’t all that great. Especially since he wouldn’t make any new friends. That just meant Damian would have to be his friend until he could start real school in January. 

Being friends with Jason was pretty awesome. He liked to read, a lot, but that just meant he was awesome at telling stories. When Damian caught him in the right mood, he’d tell all sorts of cool stories while they did a puzzle or built something with legos. Sometimes, he’d even draw with Damian and describe scenes for Damian to make. It was great. 

He wasn’t sure if all of Jason’s stories were true, but they were fun to listen to. Damian’s favorite story of Jason’s, so far, was the one where he rescued a cat that was being treated badly and gave her to a shopkeeper he knew. He had drawn a picture of Jason sneaking the cat out of an apartment window to go with that story. 

Yes. Jason was pretty awesome. Even if he were kind of weird, when it came to Dad. 

After dinner one day, about a week after Damian had started school, he went upstairs to find Jason not in the library, where he normally was when he wasn’t playing with Damian. He could hear the water running in the bathroom down the hall, though, so he figured it would only take a minute for Jason to come back. 

When Dick was still home, he and Damian had this fun game they’d play. It involved them trying their best to scare each other, and at the end of the week, whoever got the most points had to clean the other one’s room. Usually that meant Damian was picking up all the dirty clothes off the floor of Dick’s room, since his older brother didn’t seem to know what a hamper was, but sometimes Dick would have to put all of Damian’s toys away. 

It was a really fun game, though, and Damian figured he could try it out with Jason. Sure, Jason wasn’t his brother, but they _were_ foster brothers. And that was close enough. 

So, Damian hid behind the door to the library the second he heard the bathroom door open. It was a lame hiding spot, but Jason wasn’t Robin, so maybe he wouldn’t notice. 

He didn’t.

Because as soon as Jason walked into the library, Damian pushed the door so it would slam shut and jumped forward, ready to shout, “Rawr,” at Jason.

But he didn’t get the chance to shout, because as soon as he’d pushed the door shut, Jason spun around and pushed him, as hard as he could. 

Damian wished he had better reflexes, like Dick did, because instead of avoid the attack, he ended up slamming against the wall behind him and hitting his head. Really hard. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the floor, looking up at Jason, crying. 

“Holy Fuck,” Jason said, taking a step back and holding his hands out, like he were trying to tell Damian he wouldn’t hurt him any more. After a second, he snarled, a little meaner, “What the _fuck?”_

 _“_ That hurt,” Damian cried, holding onto the back of his head, right where the pain was the worst. His butt hurt a little, too. But not bad. 

“Well you shouldn’t have fucking done that,” Jason shouted, “are you-”

“Jason,” Dad admonished, in that way he always did when he was disappointed-not-mad. Which always kind of sucked, but it usually didn’t mean ‘grounded.’ Jason didn’t seem to know that, though, because he turned pale as soon as he saw Dad and took a couple steps backward. 

“What did you do?” Dad asked, his voice still hard, as he looked Damian up and down. When he turned to look at Jason, though, he, too, turned kind of pale. “Jason,” he said again, a lot softer than before, but Jason didn’t seem to care.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Jason yelled, his hands both inside his hoody, clutching onto something. Damian could see it bulging a little, but he wasn’t sure what it was. 

Dad put his hands up, just like Jason had done a minute ago, and said, “It’s okay, Jay.” 

When Jason didn’t say anything else, except to take another step backwards, Dad sighed really loud and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Then, he moved out of the doorway so Jason could go by him. After another minute, Jason did, almost running out of the room and up the stairs to his room. 

Damian sniffed loudly, and Dad finally looked back at him and knelt down in front of him. “Are you all right?” he asked, putting his hands on Damian’s head and feeling around for bumps, Damian thought.

“Uh huh,” he said, but he stuck his lower lip out again, because it did hurt a little, still. 

“Hmm,” Dad said, as his fingers felt the exact spot Damian had hit for a second longer than anywhere else, “Oh no.”

“What?” he asked, frowning harder now.

“Uh oh, I don’t like the feel of that,” Dad said before he put his hands down to hold either side of Damian’s face, “I think we’ll have to go to the hospital to get it cut off.”

“My head?” Damian asked, smiling now, because Dad was smiling.

“Yep. The whole thing’s gotta come off. It’s the only way.” 

“They can’t cut off heads,” Damian said, laughing a little as Dad kissed his forehead, “that would kill me.”

“No, they’d put it in a jar, like on Futurama. We’d call you Jarry and feed you fish food.” 

“Futurama isn’t _real,”_ Damian said, grinning. Dad started to stand up, so Damian lifted his arms up so Dad would pick him up.

“Hmm,” he said, letting Damian wrap his arms around his neck before he stood, “Maybe you’re right. You’ll probably be fine, then. Want to tell me what happened?”

Dad walked over to the couch and sat down, letting Damian wiggle a little so he was sitting comfortable. Once he was, he said, “I tried to scare Jason.”

“You did?” 

“Yeah. I think it worked too good.” 

“Well,” Dad corrected, as he wrapped his arms around Damian and pulled him a little closer, so his back was leaned up against Dad’s chest.

“Too well,” Damian agreed, “He pushed me then got mad.”

“Did he hit you again after he got mad?”

“No,” Damian said quickly, because he didn’t and he didn’t want Jason to get in trouble for hitting, “He just pushed me.”

Dad thought for a minute, then nearly hummed, “I think you’re right. You just startled him.” 

“But why’d he push me,” Damian asked, burrowing down into Dad a little more. They rarely sat together anymore, he kind of missed it. Maybe he should stop being mad at Dad so they would do things like this more often. “That wasn’t very nice. I thought we were friends.” 

“I know, buddy,” Dad said, resting his head on top of Damian’s, “but you have to understand where he’s coming from. You’re used to people trying to scare you for fun, because it’s funny. He’s used to people trying to scare him so they can hurt him.” 

Damian scrunched his eyebrows as he tried to figure out what on earth that meant. Because who would want to hurt Jason? He was pretty awesome, and a kid. He was the size of a lot of Damian’s classmates, too, so he wasn’t even a big-looking-kid. Even if he was, technically a ‘big kid.’

“Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked, turning a little so he could look at at his dad.

Dad just squeezed his arms around him, a little, and said, “Some people aren’t very nice, D.”

“But Jason’s just a kid.”

“Some people hurt children,” Dad said, sighing. He kissed Damian’s forehead and added, “and Jason has been hurt a lot by people who scared him. So how about we don’t scare him, okay? So he doesn’t think we’ll hurt him.” 

“But we already told him he won’t hurt him. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, bud. We have to show him, too, by not scaring him.” 

Damian just nodded, but after a moment asked, “Is that what he thought? That you would hurt him? Is that why he yelled at you?”

Dad sighed and ran a hand through Damian’s hair before he said, “I think so.”

“But why?” Damian asked, leaning his head to be against his dad, “You didn’t scare him like me.” 

“I did, but in a different way. I scared him by being angry he hurt you.” 

“You weren’t angry,” Damian protested, “You were just disappointed.”

Dad laughed, pretty loud, at that, and gave Damian another kiss. 

“He thought you were going to hit him?” he asked, after Dad had set his head back against Damian’s. 

“Yes,” Dad agreed, “I think he did.” 

They were silent, after that. For several minutes. While Damian thought hard about Jason and everything to do with him. About him being scared all the time, and angry sometimes, and sad others. And Dad just held him and ran his thumb back and forth across Damian’s arm. 

“His dad used to hit him,” Damian concluded, making Dad shift a little so he could look directly at Damian. 

“You think so?”

“He said he hated his dad,” Damian explained, frowning as he thought about Jason’s confession to Alfred, a couple weeks before, “And he’s afraid of you and you’re a dad. It makes sense.”

Dad nodded and sat back again. “You’re a smart kid, Damian.” 

“His dad is dead, though,” Damian said, still confused about this entire thing, “so he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. And you said you wouldn’t hurt him, so he doesn’t have to be afraid of you, either.” 

“That’s not how trauma works. He doesn’t know how to trust adults because he’s never had a reason to do so. It’ll take him a while to learn.” 

Damian nodded, then sat up, startling Dad. “We have to keep him.” 

“What?” Dad asked, blinking down at Damian as he let go so Damian could spin around. 

“Yes. We have to keep him, so no one can hurt him and so he can be safe and learn to trust.” 

“Damian, that’s not how-”

“He’s your _foster son,”_ Damian protested, “that means you can keep him as long as you want.” 

“No, it really doesn’t.” 

“Yes it does. Dick was your foster son then you adopted him and kept him forever. When he comes home again, he’ll be forever again.” 

Dad sighed and rubbed at his face. “Damian…” 

“No. We have to keep him. I’ll go tell him.” Damian hopped up, but stopped when Dad grabbed his hand. 

“Son,” he said tiredly, “We can’t make these kinds of choices for Jason. He has to trust us _first,_ and _then_ decide if he wants to stay. We can’t make him stay here if he’s scared. That won’t help.” 

Damian frowned and said, kind of petulantly, “But I want him to stay.” 

“I know you do, bud. But don’t go telling him he has to stay, okay?”

“Can I still go talk to him?”

Dad sat back and crossed his arms as he looked off toward the wall. After a moment he said, “I suppose. But if he tells you to go away, you listen to him, okay?”

“Sure,” Damian agreed, skipping off toward Jason’s room. At the last second, he made a detour to the living room, where he knew Ace was taking a nap. 

“Ace,” he said, patting his legs, “Here boy. Let’s go see Jason.” 

The dog looked at him a moment, but then slowly got to his feet and started to trot after Damian. Content that Ace was following, he started skipping back toward’s Jason’s room, and ran right up the stairs to try and stay ahead of Ace, who always ran upstairs. He was a weird dog and didn’t seem to know how to _walk_ up them, only run. 

“Jason,” he asked, as he knocked on Jason’s door, “Can I come in?”

When Jason didn’t answer, he knocked again and then slowly tried to open the door. He was pleased to find it opened just fine, which meant Jason hadn’t locked it like he usually did. 

“Fuck off,” Jason said, as soon as he’d opened the door enough to see Jason lying in his bed, scowling at Damian, “I didn’t say you could come in.” 

“You didn’t say anything at all,” Damian pointed out, “that means I can come in.” 

“It does not, you made that shit up. Now fuck off.” 

Damian hesitated for a second, because Dad did say he had to listen if Jason said go away. But he asked it in a mean way, and asking for something in a mean way doesn’t count. You have to say _please._ So that meant he didn’t actually have to go away. Dad would probably agree. Alfred definitely would.

“Here Ace,” he whispered, as he walked further into Jason’s room. Leaving the door wide open. 

Jason scowled harder as he sat up and said, “You don’t listen, do you, brat?”

Pointing at Jason, Damian directed Ace to hop up onto the bed. Ace seemed to know exactly what Damian wanted, because Ace hopped up and curled up right on top of Jason, giving Jason a quick lick on the face before he settled down.

“The fuck is your dog doing?” Jason asked, holding his hand out before hesitantly putting it on Ace’s head to pet. 

“When I’m scared, he helps me feel safe.” 

“I’m not scared,” Jason snapped, not pausing as he continued to pet Ace.

“Sure. But if you were, he could help you feel safe. Ace would never let anyone hurt you. He doesn’t like anyone hurting his people.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and said rather flatly, “I’m not one of his people.” 

“Sure you are. You live in his house, you’re one of his people.” 

“Whatever,” Jason huffed, but he wasn’t pretending to be mad at Damian anymore. Or actually mad? He seemed a lot more calm, at least. “Just get him off me and go away.” 

Damian frowned, because now Jason asked almost nicely. He had to tell Jason everything he needed to say quickly before he said please. “You know my father would never hurt you, right?”

That didn’t seem to make Jason feel any better, though, because he scowled again and snapped, “Shut up.”

“He wouldn’t. He hates child abuse. Which is what hitting kids is, by the way. We learned that at school last year.” 

“I know what child abuse is. And it’s easy to justify anything when you reason the street rat staying with you isn’t a kid.” 

“You aren’t a street rat,” Damian protested, climbing up onto Jason’s bed so he could pet Ace, too, “Did someone call you that? You shouldn’t listen to them, name calling isn’t nice.”

“Go away, Damian,” Jason said tiredly, even as he scooted just a little so Damian could sit next to him agains the headboard. 

“You’re a kid and Dad likes you. A lot. And even if he didn’t, and even if he _would_ hit you, which he wouldn’t, Ace would protect you.” 

“Whatever,” Jason mumbled, sinking down a little under Ace, letting the dog move some as he did. 

“Want to watch a movie?” Damian asked, grinning at how Jason was totally letting him stay. 

“No. I don’t want to get up.”

“You don’t have to,” Damian said as he opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out the projector’s remote. 

When he clicked power, and the projector lowered down from where it stays hidden behind a picture, Jason looked at it wide eyed and said, “Has that been there this whole time?”

“You didn’t know about it?” Damian said, waiting for it to warm up so he could pick a movie from their server it was hooked up to, “All of the bedrooms have one hidden in the wall.” 

“Whoa. Can I use it whenever I want?” 

“Yeah,” Damian said, picking the app that would let him look at all their movies, “Except after bed time. Do you have a bed time? Dick didn’t. I’m not allowed to watch TV after bedtime.” 

“I don’t have a bedtime.” Jason continued to watch in clear amazement as Damian flipped through the movies in the ‘kids’ folder. “The Incredibles,” he said, when Damian flipped past it, so Damian went back and clicked on it. 

“Have you seen it before?” Damian asked, as he lifted up the blanket and climbed down under it. 

Jason just shook his head, but said a minute later. “I’ve heard it’s good, though.” 

“It is,” Damian mumbled, as he snuggled his head down into one of Jason’s pillows, trying to find a comfortable spot so he could see and lie down. 

They didn’t talk anymore after that. Damian struggled to stay awake while Jason absently pet Ace and watched the movie, absolutely transfixed. Every once in a while, he’d sneak a look down at Damian, but he never said anything. 

But that was okay, because Dad said Jason had to learn to trust them. All Damian could think about as he fell asleep was hopefully Jason was starting to. 


	13. Trust

Bruce was so annoyed with himself.

He’d spent weeks tiptoeing around Jason, trying his best to do everything in his power to make the little boy feel safe and secure in his home. Then what did he do? Yelled at him. And probably threw all that trust they’d been slowly building right out the window. 

It wasn’t even a good reason, why he’d yelled. How many times had he found Damian crying while playing with Dick? He couldn’t even count it, it happened so often. Dick, especially when he was a little younger and Damian was a toddler, was a tad too rough. He obviously never meant to hurt Damian, but it was inevitable when he was trying to teach a 3 year old how to do a backflip. 

Instead of jump to conclusions, he should have waited to see _why_ Damian was crying. He wouldn’t have yelled at all had he just known what happened. It was an honest to God accident. No reason to get worked up.

Now Jason would probably spend the next week absolutely avoiding him. Which was just great. Just when he’d _finally_ earned enough trust that he’d show his face, sometimes, when Bruce was already in the room. Like that morning! When he’d been working in his study and Jason had knocked on the door to return his workbook. 

That was another thing. His schoolwork. He was absolutely tearing through what Alfred had bought. The placement tests showed Jason excelled in reading comprehension, which was honestly no surprise considering the kid averaged at least one book a day. Bruce joked he might have to buy more books if Jason kept at it. 

Which, actually. Jason would really enjoy a trip to the bookstore, he was sure. They’d have to do that sometimes. 

But other than reading comprehension, Jason was pretty behind in everything else. He knew a lot of obscure facts in science and social studies, but didn’t have a firm enough foundation in the subjects to claim he was at the 7th grade level. No. The tests showed he was _maybe_ at the 5th grade level. 

So Alfred had just purchased full curriculums for the 5th, 6th, and 7th grades. All the subjects were split into ten workbooks, per grade, with an exam at the end of each book. Alfred was having Jason attempt the exam first, and if he didn’t pass, go back through and complete the work for everything he didn’t know. 

Jason had been a little anxious, at first, but as soon as he realized nothing bad was going to happen when he failed, he seemed to really enjoy the work. The kid loved learning. He hadn’t once complained about the workload and usually started the day with a smile on his face. 

It was great. Jason was great.

But Bruce had probably ruined that. He just knew Jason thought this was the other shoe dropping. Bruce could tell he’d been asking himself ‘is this real’ the entire month he’d been there, and now Bruce had made him think, ‘no it wasn’t real.’ 

Part of him wanted to ignore the problem and pretend it never happened. That would be the easiest thing to do. But there was this really annoying little whisper in the back of his head saying ‘go talk to him.’ It sounded just like Karen, and honestly that woman made him do so much work, it was exhausting. But that was why he paid her, right? To push him like this?

He did wait a few hours, long after Damian had disappeared into Jason’s room and not come out. A little surprising, on Jason’s part. He was expecting Jason to throw Damian out, but maybe this whole thing made him scared of upsetting Damian again. 

All that progress, undone in half a second…. 

Bruce sighed as he climbed the stairs toward the family wing. He’d rehearsed in his head what he was going to say a few times, but he still didn’t feel ready. But he also knew if he didn’t go _now,_ he wouldn’t go at all. And this entire event would probably just cement right into Jason’s mind as proof that he couldn’t trust Bruce. 

The door to Jason’s room was open, he noticed immediately upon reaching the top of the stairs. That was absolutely never the case. Not even when Jason wasn’t in the room. 

As he walked closer, he could hear the sounds of a movie playing. Shrek, maybe? 

Definitely Shrek. 

He could hear that annoying Donkey talking. 

And once he reached the threshold of the room, he saw why Damian hadn’t come out yet. 

Right there, curled up on the bed next to Ace, was Damian. Fast asleep. Jason was on the other side of Ace, his hand tangled in Ace’s fur, his eyes glued to the movie being projected on the wall in front of his bed. 

Jason startled, just slightly, when Bruce knocked on the door, which kind of made Bruce feel better. A little. Because it meant he hadn’t been vigilantly listening for Bruce’s footsteps. 

It meant _maybe_ he hadn’t ruined everything.

Or Damian had fixed some of it. 

“Can I come in?” Bruce asked softly, once Jason had turned the volume down on his movie. 

“It’s your house,” Jason said, half shrugging as he turned his attention to petting Ace. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, still not stepping into the room, “but this is your room. You get to control who comes in here.” 

All Jason did was shift a little and wrap his free arm around himself, while he kept petting Ace. The dog sat up and licked at his face, then rested his head right in Jason’s lap, so Jason started scratching his head. 

That was good. Bruce was glad Jason and Ace were getting along. 

“You can say ‘no,’” Bruce said, when the silence had stretched on too long, “I’ll go away.” 

Jason cut his eyes up at Bruce, then looked back at his movie and mumbled, “You can come in.”

Bruce suppressed a smile as he stepped inside. Once there, however, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He hadn’t _really_ thought he’d get this far. His speech was meant for saying through a closed door. Not standing inside Jason’s room with Shrek playing in the background and Damian sleeping on the bed. 

He crossed his arms, then quickly uncrossed them out of fear he’d look too menacing, but that left him trying to figure out what to do with his arms. Putting his hands in his pockets was rude, he’d been taught, but it seemed like the only option. 

Jason huffed and offered a tiny little half smile as he said, “Just sit down, you’re killing me with second-hand awkward.” 

That made Bruce smile and look around for a place to sit. There was a backpack on the armchair, _the_ backpack, he noticed. The one Jason still had packed full of food and clothes, just in case. 

Instead of even _touching_ that, and risking whatever the reaction would be, Bruce sat on the bed, next to Damian. The mattress dipped below him, and Damian’s head lulled more to the side, but he didn’t wake and Jason didn’t seem any more tense than he had been before. 

“I hope he didn’t bother you too bad,” Bruce said, running his hand through Damian’s hair as he just watched his son sleep for a second. He loved Damian’s sleeping face. It made him look just like that little baby he’d been, way back when Talia dropped him off. 

Jason shrugged and crossed his arms, his eyes fixed squarely ahead. Right on Shrek as he ‘rescued’ the princess. “He doesn’t know what ‘fuck off’ means, but he showed me the projector so I guess it’s okay.” 

“Hmm,” Bruce said, sitting back and resting against the bed’s headboard as he draped his arm over Damian. They’d need to work on Jason’s language. Later, though. After he started trusting them. “I told him to listen to you if you said go away.” 

“Yeah well, he definitely didn’t do that,” Jason mumbled, sinking a little further into the bed. He was still sitting up, and honestly it just looked uncomfortable. 

“I’ll have a talk with him.” 

At that, Jason took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and all Bruce could do was frown. Ace, though, stood up and licked Jason’s face again until Jason pushed him away while suppressing a smile, then lay back down, right on top of Jason. 

Jason grunted when Ace did that, but kept a faint smile on his face as he pet Ace some more. 

“If he ever does something that bugs you, you can tell me,” Bruce said, once Jason seemed a little more settled, “I’ll talk to him about it. And that’s all I’ll do, _talk_ to him. If it becomes a problem, I’ll ground him. That’s it.”

“Okay.” 

“And it’s okay if you upset him, you know that, right?” When Jason only frowned, Bruce continued, “I’m not saying you can hurt his feelings on purpose, just as he can’t hurt _your_ feelings on purpose, but you’re not going to get in trouble for making him cry because you don’t want to play with him.” 

“He’s okay,” Jason whispered, tangling his hand back in Ace’s fur. 

That concept was likely going to take a lot more work to solidify in Jason’s mind, so Bruce would just keep repeating it. As long as he needed to. Although if he _did_ tell Damian to ‘fuck off’ earlier, that meant he either didn’t think he could get in any more trouble, or he wasn’t _that_ afraid of upsetting Damian anymore. Hopefully it was not because he thought Bruce was about to toss him out, regardless of what he did. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, his own eyes staring at the movie, now, even if he wasn’t actually paying any attention to it. He’d found not looking directly at Jason was the best way to have sensitive conversations with him. 

Jason just shrugged again, Bruce could see out of the corner of his eye, so he sighed and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” 

“It’s fine,” Jason said, shifting a little under Ace, his hand still resting on Ace’s back. 

“No,” Bruce said, firmly, but as kindly as he could, “It’s not fine. It was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have done it.” 

When Jason didn’t react further, he added, “I do trust you, Jay. I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion before asking what happened.”

It took a minute for Jason to answer. He sat there as he toyed with Ace’s fur, seeming to care more about each individual strand than talking to Bruce. But he eventually offered a small smile as he said, “You know you’re a weirdo, right?”

“I think a certain kid has told me that a few times in the past month.” 

“That’s because it’s true.” 

While he was saying exhausting things, Bruce decided to try and drive home one last point. Even if Jason didn’t take it to heart. Even if he took none of it to heart, it was important he kept repeating the important things. That was how kids learned, right? Repetition?

“And Jason, lad, I know you don’t believe a word I say, but I _promise_ you, I will never hit you. Just like I’ve never hit Damian and I’ve never hit Dick.” Bruce had to pause, for a second, because that wasn’t actually true. He’d hit Dick many times. All while training. “We spar, Dick and I, but that’s different. That was always a mutual decision and I never did anything that would cause him harm. Sparring was always about training him to protect himself better.” 

“That’s basically what Damian said.” 

Bruce paused, then smiled as he said, “Good. It’s true.” Maybe Damian barging in on Jason was a good thing, after all. 

He’d still have to have a talk with Damian about boundaries. 

Again.

Jason smiled an almost devious smile as he said, “He also said Ace would bite you.” 

“He probably would,” Bruce said, laughing as he reached over and shook Ace a little, just enough to get him to look up at him and wag his tail, “Wouldn’t you, boy?”

Damian stirred at all the movement, and stretched out dramatically before turning around, toward Ace, and curling up a little tighter. He was much closer to Jason that way, too. Now that Ace was basically on top of Jason, rather than lying between them.

Both Bruce and Jason watched Damian for a couple minutes, making sure he fell back into a nice deep sleep. Neither of them really wanted him awake, Bruce figured. Damian, when his sleep got interrupted, was a cranky kid. Lucky for them, he was still a heavy sleeper, so waking him on accident was rare. 

“So,” Jason finally said, his attention back on the movie, “you taught Dick how to fight?”

“Yes, and how to defend himself.” 

“And Dick’s been Robin for a long time, right? You taught him when he was a kid?”

“For about,” Bruce had to pause, to do the math, “Eight years. Yes. He was 9 when I started training him.” 

Jason nodded, then said, hesitantly, “I don’t… not trust you.” 

“You don’t?” Bruce asked, because he kind of really doubted those words. But _hearing_ them? Still made him feel warm inside. He might just cry the day Jason actually displayed some real trust. 

Shaking his head, Jason wrapped his arms around himself again as he said, “It’s just- I don’t- Can you teach me?”

The question came out so rushed, Bruce almost didn’t catch it. But when he did, he got a tad confused. Because he was already teaching Jason. Him and Alfred. 

“Teach you what, lad?”

“How to fight,” he said confidently, after a deep breath.

“Do you mean how to defend yourself?” Bruce asked, actually thinking about that, himself. Because he didn’t really _want_ to. He didn’t want to give Jason the skills to beat people up. But, at the same time, he knew learning a martial art could give him confidence and make him feel safer, even in scary situations. 

It would help him feel safe in Bruce’s home, knowing he knew how to defend himself against Bruce. Or could at least do a little damage, if necessary. It would also help him feel safe away at boarding school, where there would be a lot of adults and older kids he didn’t know. Bruce wanted to trust all the high school boys and teachers to be kind to him, but he knew bullying could be a problem, no matter how prestigious the school was. 

And Jason was so _small._ It seemed like no matter how much food they put into him, he wasn’t growing. He was such an easy target. It was a wonder he wasn’t picked up by some… less than savory individuals interested in children who _looked_ like children. For Jason to live on the streets for three years and avoid being trafficked was a huge testament to his resourcefulness. 

Maybe teaching him basic self defense would be a good thing.

“Yeah,” Jason said, nodding eagerly, “Like, how to get out of holds and fight back against guys who are like, your size. Like Robin did.” 

“I think that might be a good idea.” 

Jason perked up and smiled brightly at Bruce as he said, “Really?” 

“Want to start tomorrow?” Bruce could easily carve out an hour of his time each day, sometime in the late morning, to teach Jason. He and Damian already had lessons a couple times a week in the evenings, and on the weekends. Bruce could add Jason to that, too, if he wanted. Or they could have separate lessons. Either way. 

“Yes,” Jason said, grinning now. 

They’d have to start slow, Bruce knew. Jason still had _way_ too many triggers, and like hell was he going to go setting them all off in the name of training. He’d probably teach Jason forms first. Forms and patterns. Absolutely no sparring until Jason stopped jumping at every little misstep by Bruce. Maybe some hold breaking in a couple weeks, after Jason got a chance to get a feel for training. Him sitting in on one of Damian’s lessons might help, also. Have him see that no harm comes to Damian, and hopefully relate that to the thought no harm would come to him, either. Or have both of them at the same time to teach that. 

However they did it, Bruce was confident he could have Jason at a basic proficiency in self-defense by the time he went away for school. 

“All right,” Bruce said, carefully standing up so not to disturb Damian too much, “I am going out on patrol. Damian is out for the night, do you want me to move him to his own room?”

Jason thought about it for a second, before shaking his head. “He’s okay. I don’t mind.” 

Bruce smiled and pushed Damian’s hair back so he could give him a kiss on the forehead. “All right, then I’ll leave him right here. You know where Alfred is if you need anything?”

“Yes,” Jason said, pushing Ace off him so he could crawl under the covers. 

“Okay. Are you turning in for the night, then?” 

“Nah,” Jason said, even as he snuggled down into his pillow, “I want to finish the movie.”

“All right,” he said, smiling a little. Bruce walked over to the door and started to pull it shut before he said, “Good night, Jay. Sleep tight.”

“Night, Bruce,” came the reply, half muddled by a yawn. 

And Bruce just smiled. Because maybe he hadn’t screwed everything up, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the next chapter almost done already, which is exciting. Now that I've posted this, I'm only one chapter ahead, but I am going to work REALLY HARD to get way ahead so I can start prewriting my next project. IF I can do that, and have like a month or two of posting this still once a week while I write, I think I'm doing Jason and the Three Terrors next. If not, I'm not sure if it'll be Jason or the Tim & Cass arc for this AU. We'll have to see.
> 
> Anyway, I figure there's another 10-12 chapters of this, then it's done. So yay for long stories.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving comments and being amazing and awesome guys! ❤️❤️❤️


	14. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, we have Dick.

Going home was nerve-wracking for Dick.

Being out on his own was wonderful. No curfews, no yelling, no following orders, and no overprotective, controlling fathers breathing down his neck constantly.

He hadn’t meant to go as long as he did without any contact. Honest. It’s just, once he’d got a breath of the fresh air of freedom, it had been hard to get himself to give it up. Even temporarily. And on top of that, he kept busying himself with mission after mission. He lost track of time rather quickly.

But apparently Bruce hadn’t withdrawn him from Gotham Academy. And now he was getting annoying calls from the administration office asking where on earth he was. So he had withdrawn himself, and was now swinging by the manor to pick up his birth certificate and SSN card. He apparently needed those, if he wanted to establish residency in New York, which was dumb. Why couldn’t his New Jersey driver’s license be enough?

Whatever. He was also going to sign up for the GED and get a job somewhere, and he definitely needed at least the SSN in order to take a job. Although he didn’t really need money. The Titans were fairly well funded, and he had been living out of the tower without issue, right along side Raven, Beast Boy, and Starfire for the past couple months. The other members tended to slip in an out when they could. Speedy and Kid Flash both still lived at home, and were more ‘weekend members’ than anything. Just like he had been before Bruce fired him.

How could Bruce do that to him? Train him for _eight_ years, and then just fire him? All because he suffered a graze wound? It was bullshit. Batman had been shot at least half a dozen times since he became Robin, and he never fired himself. No, Dick just had to sit back and watch his dad nearly die over and over.

But clearly Bruce’s feelings were far more important than Dick’s.

He had been getting more and more insufferable, too. Always riding him about college and ‘taking a break’ to ‘be a kid.’ Dick didn’t _want_ to take a break. This _was_ his calling. He did not need to go get a degree in friggen business, or some such nonsense, and take over Wayne Enterprises. Or work a lame desk job for the rest of his life.

Helping people was what he wanted to do. Being a hero was what he wanted. There was nothing in the world he loved more than being a part of the hero community and fighting crime and worse threats on a daily basis, right alongside his friends and family. Nothing would ever beat that. Especially not four years of stuffy classes and then 40 more sitting at a desk. No sir. No thank you.

But Bruce didn’t get that. Because Bruce was thick skulled and didn’t actually care what Dick wanted. It was maddening.

It was also why Dick hadn’t listened to a single one of Bruce’s insufferably many voicemails. He’d been leaving one almost every single day. The last thing he needed was to listen to Bruce yell at him. Their textline had also been muted, and every couple days he’d open it just long enough to clear the notifications away. He kept meaning to go back through, once he’d cooled off, but every time he thought about it he got worked right back up again, so he’d quit even thinking about it.

Damian was another story. Not seeing Damian was _killing_ him. God, he loved that kid, and every time he spoke to him on the phone it just created this intense burning in his chest. An almost unbearable desire to just pack up and go back home. Just so he could see his little brother.

Muting Damian’s calls had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he had to, for his own sanity. He had intended on texting with him a couple times a week, but now Damian was ignoring him, it seemed. So Dick had just decided to let it go. He’d make it right with Damian next time he saw him, he kept telling himself. Damian was a very forgiving little boy. He’d get over it.

Dick somehow managed to pull right up to the front door of the house without alerting anyone to his presence. He’d come on a Tuesday, so he wouldn’t have Alfred there monitoring the gate, since it was his day off. Bruce, apparently, was busy off somewhere else, and hadn’t bothered to check up on an authorized opening of the gate. If he’d even noticed.

That was good. It meant Dick was able to slip in through the front and up the stairs without seeing anyone. Maybe he could even slip in and slip out without seeing Bruce. Give Damian a hug, maybe.

Ace’s collar started jingling, the first indication he had of an incoming tackle by the dog. Sure enough, Ace came darting out of the guest room on the other side of Damian’s and bounding down the hall toward him. Which, that was strange. Him being in the guest room, but maybe Damian was being weird and playing in there.

“Fine,” an unfamiliar voice called after Ace, “Just run off, whatever. I didn’t want to play with you, either.”

Dick knelt down and caught the dog once he’d come barreling into him, trying his best to keep Ace from licking his face clean off.

It was then that he saw the boy, apparently, walk out of the guest room as he was saying, “See if I give you treats later- oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” Dick replied, still petting Ace, who was trying his best to become one with Dick, with how much he was trying to jump up on him, “Uh. Are you one of Damian’s friends?”

The kid looked about Damian’s age. He was supposed to be in 2nd grade this year, right? This kid could be 8. Maybe. He looked older than that, but he was small, so possibly. Or maybe Damian made an older friend. Either way.

“No,” the kid huffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door to Damian’s room. Still about 15 feet from Dick, he noticed immediately. Cautious. Guarded. A touch anxious.

Interesting.

What on earth was he doing in the manor?

“Uh, okay,” Dick said, standing up now that Ace seemed to be calming down, “Who are you?”

“Jason,” the kid, Jason apparently, said, “I guess, technically, I’m Damian’s foster brother, if you must know.”

Dick’s brain short circuited at that. “You… what?” he said, because it was the only thing he could get out.

Bruce had gone and picked up another kid? And didn’t even tell him? What the hell?

“And you must be the other foster brother who lives up to his name,” Jason said, smirking a little as he leaned further back against the doorframe.

“Bruce…. adopted another kid?”

“No,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “ _Fostered._ That’s what _foster_ brother means, dingus.”

How long had this kid been here? Where did Bruce find him? Had Bruce just gone and pick up the first cute, tiny kid he could find once Dick left? Replaced him with a cuter, younger model? One he could boss around better?

Jason stumbled a little when Damian’s door flew open, then scowled at Damian as he looked out into the hall and saw Dick.

“Dick,” he shouted, running out, just like Ace had, and launching himself into Dick’s arms, “You’re home! I missed you so much!”

“Hey, Dami,” he said, hugging tight and swaying Damian, just a little, as he held him up in the air, “I missed you, too.”

He’d thought he’d have trouble holding back tears, once he finally saw Damian again. But the confusion and anger about this whole Jason-thing was helping balance him out. Actually, he was probably more on the angry side than anything else.

“Don’t leave again,” Damian said, clutching tight to Dick’s neck when he tried to put him down, “You have to stay.”

“Damian,” Dick sighed, prying him off and setting him down, “I-”

“No,” Damian shouted, “You have to stay and meet Jason. He’s cool, you’ll like him. He’s our new brother.”

“ _Foster_ brother,” Jason exasperated, like he’d said that exact thing a million times.

“Whatever. Look, I’m just hear to grab a few things-”

“Dad,” Damian screamed, latching on to Dick’s hand, as if that could possibly hold him in place, “Dad help!”

It was no surprise when Bruce came rushing up the stairs, half a minute later. Damian’s voice had sounded frantic, like he were in danger. He’d probably given Bruce a touch of panic, just shouting like that. Normally, Dick would have shouted after him that everything was fine, but he hadn’t wanted to see Bruce.

“Dammit, Damian,” he whispered, freeing himself so he could slip into his room, maybe before Bruce appeared.

But he had no such luck.

“Damian,” Bruce called, just as he reached the top of the stairs, then froze. “Dick.”

Dick had to close his eyes. Because the sheer _relief_ in Bruce’s voice, just in the simple utterance of his name, was almost enough to make him… he wasn’t sure. Ask for a hug? It reminded him of better times. Back when just seeing Bruce was enough to make him feel safe. Safe and happy and loved. Long before their fights had started, and Bruce’s overprotectiveness had started. His intense desire to control everything about Dick’s life, all in the name of ‘keeping him safe.’

All his heart was singing was _I’m sorry. I love you. I miss you. Why can’t you be the dad you were 5 years ago?_

But his head was screaming _how could you. What were you thinking? What’s wrong with you?_

“I came for my birth certificate,” he said, instead of anything his heart wanted him to say. Because his head was louder and anger usually won out with him, anymore. And he didn’t want to say any of _that_ within earshot of Damian or Jason.

“Oh,” Bruce said, crestfallen, “I keep that in my office in the fire box. Let’s- Let’s go get that, then.”

Damian fell in step with him, as he started to follow Bruce back downstairs, but Jason ran and caught Damian’s hand.

“Actually,” he said, “I need your help, Damian.”

“But Dick is home,” Damian whined, trying to tug away from Jason, who had a pretty strong grip on him.

“Trust me, kid,” he whispered, probably thinking Dick and Bruce couldn’t hear him, “You’d rather help me than follow them.”

“Don’t fight,” Damian shouted after them, as they both started down the stairs, and he allowed himself to be tugged toward the guest… Jason’s…? room.

What in the actual hell.

Another kid.

Bruce was surprisingly silent as they walked to his office. Dick had been expecting a lecture, maybe. Angry words. An argument. Instead, it was just tense and awkward.

It kind of helped calm him. Just a little. The silence.

Once in the office, Bruce removed a set of false book covers from one of the bookshelves and pulled out the hidden fire safe from behind. Dick watched as Bruce unlocked it with a key from his pocket and start to rifle through the folders inside.

Right on top was a folder labeled “Jason,” and Dick flipped right back to pissed.

“What’s with adopting another kid,” he asked, scowling while Bruce pulled out his own folder and started rifling through it. Through _his_ papers. “Just give me the whole damn folder.”

Bruce’s eye twitched before he took a breath and said, much more calmly than Dick had been, “You don’t need all the papers in here, Dick. Replacing them would be a pain, I’d rather not risk losing them.”

Figures he’d just assume Dick would be irresponsible and lose all his own paperwork. What even was there? Adoption paperwork, probably. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“Dick,” Bruce said, sighing loudly. He pulled out two envelopes and held them out for Dick to take, so he did. Perhaps a little too roughly.  “I don’t want to fight.”

Too bad, Dick thought. “And who the fuck is Jason? You didn’t answer that.”

Bruce’s face pinched, and he looked at Dick like he were trying to solve a fucking puzzle, or something.

“What?” he snapped, looking up from making sure it was his birth certificate and SSN card Bruce had handed him.

“You haven’t listened to my voicemails,” Bruce said, frowning. Like he were _sad._ Fuck him, trying to make Dick feel guilty like that.

“No, why the fuck would I?” he said, putting the paperwork into his backpack so he could leave. He was pretty much done here. “I didn’t want to hear you yelling at me.”

“I didn’t yell in a single one of them. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“You yell at me _all the time,”_ Dick shot back, “All the fucking time, Bruce.”

He didn’t have to listen to this. Listen to Bruce try to guilt trip him or convince him he was the perfect dad and Dick was an ungrateful little brat. In fact, he didn’t have to talk to Bruce at all. Ever. If he didn’t want to.

Yep. He was leaving. He had his birth certificate and everything now. He didn’t need Bruce. Damian would be fine, too. He had a new brother.

Bruce looked like he’d been slapped, so Dick just rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

“Dick,” Bruce said, rushing forward and grabbing his arm, “Wait.”

Dick turned around, mostly just to glare at Bruce’s hand on his arm. He didn’t particularly want to actually fight Bruce, so he was hoping Bruce would get the hint and let go.

He didn’t and said, “I’m- I’m sorry. You’re right. I yell at you too much. I’ll _work_ on it, just don’t- don’t-”

“No,” Dick said, snatching his arm out of Bruce’s, thankfully, loose grip, “You don’t get to do this.”

“Dick, I-”

“ _No._ It’s too fucking late, Bruce. You _fired me,_ if you’ve forgotten.”

“From Robin, not from being-”

“It wasn’t your decision to make about me!” he shouted, not interested in hearing anything Bruce had to say in defense.

“I know, and I’m _sorry._ Dick-”

“And then you just fucking replace me? Does the new kid follow orders better? Is that why?”

“What?” Bruce said, playing ‘honestly confused’ flawlessly. Dick wasn’t buying it. “No, he actually doesn’t-”

“He’s probably got some hero worship going on, too, just to stroke your ego. Like me at that age. The perfect replacement.”

“No,” Bruce said quickly, shaking his head, “he’s afraid of me half the time and he’s _not_ a replacement. Dick, God, I could _never-”_

“Are you training him?” Dick asked bluntly.

“Well, yes, but-”

Dick threw his arms out, as if to say ‘see’ and it shut Bruce up. “It’s too dangerous for me out there, so you went and got yourself a smaller more dependent child to drag around. Brilliant. Why isn’t it too dangerous for him?”

“Would you let me finish one sentence,” Bruce yelled, then immediately clenched his jaw and took a very loud breath through his nose. “I am not taking him _out,”_ he bit out, much quieter, “I am teaching him how to defend himself because he’s _afraid of everyone._ I want him to have enough confidence that he doesn’t have a panic attack and bolt every time an adult shows even a hint of a negative emotion.”

“So he’s an abuse victim,” Dick said, a little annoyed with how quickly his anger mellowed out just over Bruce’s explanation.

“ _Yes,_ and he was living on the streets, starving to death, because his foster parents tried to traffic him.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, covering his eyes so he could _think_ without seeing Bruce’s stupid face. The one that looked so damn concerned and upset with that underlying righteous anger he’d seen so many times. Every single time they dealt with any form of child abuser.

“He’s not _that_ afraid of everyone,” Dick said, uncovering his eyes to raise an eyebrow at Bruce, “he called me a dick in lieu of introducing himself.”

Bruce winced and said, “He’s twelve?” as if that in itself explained it.

It kind of did.

Twelve-year-olds were assholes.

“Wait, he’s _twelve?”_ Holy fuck was that kid tiny. Dick definitely bought ‘starving to death,’ now.

“Yeah. You should have seen him when we first got him. He was so skinny, I was afraid if he missed a single meal he’d die.”

“Okay,” Dick said, taking a breath. He needed to _think._ Actually, he didn’t want to think. Because this was just confusing him.

He was supposed to be angry. Instead, he’s worrying about some kid that just mouthed off to him. But he supposed he didn’t have to be worried, since Bruce had him now. Fostered him and everything. Bet Bruce would adopt him _way_ quicker than he’d adopted Dick.

“How the hell have you kept this out of the news?” Dick asked, scowling, “when you took me in we got hounded for _months._ I haven’t seen a single story about this. _”_ And it’s not like Dick hadn’t been paying attention to Gotham news. He had been. Avidly.

Bruce winced. “It got buried by the foster care scandal. The FBI being in town was way more interesting to people.”

“Did Jason have anything…” Dick said, then trailed off. Because _obviously_ he did. Batman had been the one to blow the lid on foster care, and if Jason’s foster parents had attempted to traffic him...

Who the fuck did shit like that?

“He was the one to turn me onto the case,” Bruce confirmed.

“Fine,” Dick said, reluctantly, “Okay. I _guess_ I understand you...”

He sighed, bouncing just a little. He needed to get out of here and fucking _think._ This was not, at all, how he’d expected this conversation to go, and he needed time to process.

“Look, Bruce,” he said, and Bruce’s face immediately fell from where a little touch of hope had seeped in, “I have to get back to New York. The Titans have a meeting…”

“I understand,” Bruce said solemnly, as Dick started to leave the room, ready to get some distance between himself and Gotham.

“Dick,” Bruce said, causing Dick to stop and turn one last time, “Just remember, everything I’ve ever done is because I love you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, as he turned and finally was allowed to leave the Manor.

He had a lot to think about. Going in, he thought he’d had his head on straight. But now… now he was only confused. Part of him wanted to pull over and listen to every single voice mail Bruce had left. Well over 100 of them, the last time he’d checked. Then another part of him wanted to just forget about it and not give Bruce any more chances.

 _But he apologized,_ the nicer side of his brain said, _he said sorry. He didn’t try to stop you._

That anger still deep inside him growled, _because he knows he can’t and he doesn’t want to scare his newest kid by getting too angry. It had nothing to do with you._

Rubbing at his face, Dick flipped through his phone until he found an audio book to listen to. What he really needed was to get his mind _off_ of this. Push Bruce and all his contradictions right out of his head.

Really, it changed nothing. He still lived in New York with the Titans. It was his calling, after all. The hero business. There was no life for him in Gotham. He’d have to have a day job, and he just couldn’t think of something worth his time.

Perhaps _that_ was something he should think about. Get his GED and start exploring day jobs.

Yeah. That sounded like a good plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to say that in the summary. LOL
> 
> ALSO, Dick and Bruce went soooo off script here. Shame on them. Ruined my whole outline, what losers. Making me rethink and rewrite future chapter plans. Grrrrrrr. Oh well, just means Dick isn't too wildly out of character, like he would have been otherwise. Also now it'll be easier to pull him back. :) Happy ending is, of course, the goal in this series.


	15. Forgiveness

Damian did not react well upon learning Dick left, again.

Bruce hadn’t been expecting anything different, so it came as no real shock when Damian shouted, “You ruined everything,” and stormed off to his room. Jason had avoided eye contact and followed after Damian, so Bruce just sighed and decided to drink a nice cup of coffee before he went to talk to his son. 

And maybe Jason, if necessary. 

As much as Bruce loved Dick, because _God_ did he miss that kid, he had seriously mixed feeling about him popping back in for all of twenty minutes. All it was going to do was hit reset on Damian’s cycle of grief, and Bruce was not ready for three more months of Damian moping around the house. Jason’s presence had finally drawn him back out of himself. The last thing he wanted was for all that progress to just disappear. 

Which is why he didn’t give the boys _too_ much time to simmer in their thoughts. Besides, the quicker he got to it, the easier it would be to form a game plan for dealing with it, whatever the damage was. Damian, he was fairly certain, would be mad about Dick and Bruce fighting again. He never did take well to their arguments, but now that it’d caused Dick to leave, it was fairly predictable what his upsets would be. 

Jason, though, Bruce had no idea. Would he think Bruce had done something to Dick? Would this make him afraid, again? Assume Bruce was abusive? Really, those were the only conclusions he could come up with, and he just hoped Jason didn’t read that out of the situation. He felt like he’d _finally_ convinced Jason he meant no harm. At least, while not angry. He’d been very careful not to get angry in front of the boy, ever since his panic attack set off by Bruce’s yelling. 

He was dreading the day Jason saw him truly angry. The boy still had his backpack packed and ready to go, and Bruce did _not_ want him using it. 

As Bruce ascended the stairs, he was slightly surprised to hear the boys yelling at each other. 

They _never_ fought. Bickered, sure. Constantly. But never outright fought, with raised voices and angry words, like he could finally make out once he’d reached the top of the stairs. 

Whether that was because Jason was too afraid to upset Damian, still, Bruce had no idea. It could have just been how the boys were. They did get along remarkably well. 

Most of the time…

-spoiled little brat,” was the first thing Bruce could make out, snarled by Jason. It took a lot of self-restraint for him not to just storm into the room and ask what the hell was going on. 

Scaring Jason. Not something he wanted to do.

Besides, he had just heard Damian’s little voice screaming at Jason, first, so he knew this wasn’t a Jason-only thing. They both were likely in the wrong here.

“I am not,” Damian snapped back, “You’re just a jerk.” 

“At least I’m not being a little dick to my dad because my asshole of a brother ran away.” 

Language, Bruce wanted to say. They needed to start up a swear jar, or something. Bruce wasn’t quite sure _what_ to do about Jason’s swearing. Start giving him an allowance, so they could make him give it to the jar? Tell him that’s his book money for the week? Would that even _work?_ Jason was always hesitant to accept gifts. Books he had a hard time turning down, but everything else was usually refused because ‘I don’t need it.’ 

The kid understood exactly what a dollar was worth. He’d fought and worked hard for every single penny he’d touched in the past few years. It was hard for him to spend dollars on anything but necessities, even though he _knew_ they would still have enough food to eat, regardless of whether Bruce bought him another pair of shoes. 

It was an entire mindset they needed to work him into. Or out of. Perhaps a swear jar would be too traumatic for him. Or exactly the motivation he needed. 

“He is not-” Damian started, then growled a little before he changed to, “It’s Dad’s fault! If he wasn’t mean to Dick, Dick wouldn’t leave!”

Bruce had to sigh as he rubbed at his face. He should put an end to this, somehow, without making _either_ of them think he was mad. 

Did he really come across as mean? 

He was silently making his way down the hall when Jason replied, “Oh boo hoo, Bruce yelled at Dick and Dick acted like a spoiled brat and ran away. How _terrible._ You don’t know how good you have it,” and Bruce paused again. 

“That’s not-” Damian tried, but Jason cut him off.

“Does he hit you?”

“No,” Damian said, defiantly. Defensively. 

Jason didn’t give him time to counter with anything before he was asking, “Does he starve you?”

The answer this time had a touch more confusion, but was just as quick. “No.” 

“Does he lock you out of the house because you’re useless and only cost him more money?” 

“No?” Damian asked, all trace of anger completely vanished from his voice. Poor kid. He really had no idea how awful people could be to children. Bruce was kind of proud of that fact. Keeping a child sheltered in Gotham was difficult, after all.

But Jason kept going, and more than anything, Bruce wanted to go find Willis Todd and re-murder him for giving Jason this example of a father. 

“Does he only talk to you to scream about how much he hates your existence?”

“Of course not,” Damian shouted, and now that Bruce had reached the doorway to Damian’s room, where this argument was going down, he could see the little scowl on his face as he stomped his foot, “Dad loves me.” 

“ _Exactly,”_ Jason snarled, right into Damian’s face. Although he didn’t actually seem to be physically threatening Damian, just yelling at him. “You’re fucking _lucky._ Stop being a spoiled brat. So your fake brother ran away, who cares? He’s a dick anyway.” 

“Fake brother?” Damian screeched, “He’s not my fake brother! He’s my _real_ brother.” 

“Oh, please,” Jason scoffed, taking a step back and crossing his arms. 

Damian clenched his fists and screamed, “Dad adopted him.” 

This was starting to give Bruce a headache. 

“Boys,” he said, as gently as he could, because he didn’t want to go scaring Jason on top of everything else. 

But they must not have heard him, because Jason yelled, “Whatever! Your dad is fucking _great._ Stop being a little dick to him because your _brother_ lived up to his name.” 

Despite everything, Bruce couldn’t help but smile just a little at _that._

“That-” Damian started, then scowled harder and screamed, at the top of his lungs, “Stop saying bad words!”

And Bruce had had enough.

“Boys,” he said, much louder this time, effectively gaining the attention of both of them. He raised his eyebrows, as if to ask, ‘what is going on.’ 

“Jason’s being mean,” Damian immediately said, earning an eye-roll from the boy in question. 

“Bruce isn’t that gullible,” Jason snapped, taking a second to glare at Damian before he turned his attention toward Bruce. 

“Jay-” Bruce started, but Jason cut him off sharply.

“I was not talking to you,” he snapped, stomping as he made his way to the door. Bruce side stepped so he could go past, and was briefly struck by how _different_ this encounter was already. And oddly a little proud of Jason for that.

“Jay-” he tried again, but Jason must have sensed something in his tone, because he scowled at Bruce so fiercely, Bruce just wanted to throw his hands up and apologize. 

“No,” he said, pointing his finger at Bruce as he passed, “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I don’t give you permission.” 

Bruce’s lip quirked at how absolutely funny Jason could be. How precocious and downright observant he was. Because he was absolutely going to use this information. Jason had yet to talk about his father, more than to say he hated him. The more Bruce knew, the easier it was to figure out Jason’s triggers and avoid them. 

To think, this child thought himself _stupid._

He was the exact opposite of stupid.

And Bruce was struck with a thought he had constantly, but always about two other boys. Two other boys who occupied so much of his thoughts, who had his complete devotion, whom he centered his life around.

It was strange, how easily and naturally Jason had wormed his way into the same spot. 

Now that he was there, now that he _realized_ he was there, Bruce honestly couldn’t see any other conclusion than what his brain had just fed him.

“Jason,” he said again, poking his head out into the hall to catch Jason before he escaped into his own room. When Jason paused and glared at him, he said, “I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself stupid again.” 

The way Jason’s lip twitched into his shy little smile before he ducked his head and fled into his room just further cemented the thought in his head. 

Because damn did he love that kid. 

Selina was going to laugh her ass off at him when he told her. ‘Called it,’ she would say. 

Ah, well. He couldn’t say he was upset about the development. 

Bruce snapped back to the situation at hand when Damian’s hands suddenly started pushing at his waist, trying his best to push him right out the door. 

“Get out of my room.” 

“Excuse me?” he asked, gently pushing Damian back so he could get a good look at his son. 

Damian tried his best to look menacing, Bruce was fairly confident, but he just looked constipated. And perhaps ready to fling himself at his bed and cry. 

“I get to choose who bes in my room and I don’t want you in it.” 

“’Bes’ is not a word,” he said, but Damian scowled harder at him for the correction, “Okay, okay. I’ll leave, but you and I have to talk later.”

“Fine,” Damian snapped, then closed his door the second Bruce stepped outside the room. 

For a moment he only stood there, rubbing at his face while he tried to figure out what had just happened. With a quick glance toward Jason’s door, he immediately dismissed any thought about knocking on his door and decided to go back downstairs. 

All he wanted to was to know the damage Dick had caused, right? Listen to him. _Dick_ had caused. Dick had _not_ caused this. Just… just. Maybe set it off. A little. It was really Bruce’s fault at the end of the day. Since he hadn’t prevented it from happening to begin with. _He_ was the adult, after all. 

Right?

Sighing, Bruce turned and started down toward the library. 

Now that he knew the damage, he could form his game plan and leave the boys alone. Let them both chill out while he thought over the issue. Or worked on one of his cases. 

That wasn’t the lazy way out, was it?

No. Definitely not. 

Distracting himself often helped him think, anyway. 

At least, that’s what he told himself when he settled down in his favorite rocking chair in the library and let himself get engrossed in researching the latest string of kidnappings to hit Gotham. With the foster care system out of commission, as far as human trafficking was concerned, the scumbags had to get their kids from _somewhere._ And Bruce was not about to let that keep happening. 

He only startled _slightly_ when, three hours into his research, a toy cow smacked him in the face, quickly followed by a book being thrust on top of his tablet. Damian clambered on top of him, his bony little knees digging into Bruce’s thighs and stomach as he found a comfortable spot and flipped around. 

Bruce set his tablet aside and helped Damian spread the blanket he’d been dragging behind him over his lap, since he was struggling to do that himself. 

“We’re on chapter seven,” Damian said, before Bruce could even wrap his arms around him and ask what was up. 

“Are we now?” he asked, smiling fondly at the copy of _Artemis Fowl: The Opal Deception_ Damian had come with. He was rather proud Damian had made it into at least one more book on his own, since they’d quit reading together every day. They had been reading the first book in this series when Damian decided to ‘punish’ Bruce. These were difficult books for a kid his age, he thought. But Damian was a remarkable child. 

Damian nodded against his chest and clutched Cow close, so Bruce wrapped one arm around his son and opened to chapter seven to begin reading. 

Bruce would be a giant liar if he said he hadn’t missed this. 

The way Damian just _fit_ in his arms. The artificial scent of apples wafting off his hair. The tickle of his hair on Bruce’s chin every time he shifted, forcing Bruce to lift his head and readjust it on his crown. 

One day, Damian would be too big for this, and Bruce honestly dreaded that day. 

When he finished the chapter, about half an hour later, he set the book down and looked at Damian, who was toying with Cow’s arms and just sitting there, his head resting against Bruce. So Bruce wrapped both arms around him and held him, for however long he wanted to be held. 

Whatever had driven him to seek out Bruce for this in the first place would eventually come out, he knew. 

Damian snuggled Cow close and finally asked, in a very small, quiet voice, “Do you think Dick will forgive me?”

The sweet innocence of his son… 

“Why would Dick need to forgive you,” he asked, readjusting his grip on Damian, trying his best to offer more comfort. 

“I ignored him today,” Damian said in despair, turning his face into Bruce’s shirt. 

“You did?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “He called me two times and I pressed ‘decline’ both times.” 

“Hmm,” he said, running his fingers through Damian’s hair a few times, “It’s okay to be mad at him.” 

Damian sniffed and scrubbed at his face, with Bruce’s t-shirt to his amusement. “He ignored me forever. I’m just ignoring him back.” 

“I know.”

“I hated it when he ignored me,” Damian said, and he was so close to crying Bruce wanted to yell at Dick over causing this. For making his little brother hurt so much.

Which…. would just make it worse. Because apparently he yelled too much. 

Somewhere along the way, Bruce had gone wrong with Dick. And honestly, he had no idea where. He could not figure that one out, no matter how many times he talked to Karen about it. 

_Dick_ was who he needed talk to, perhaps with Karen there to help, but the two of them tended to feed off each other’s anger and start arguing, rather than actually talk out their issues. And Bruce had pretty much always been an idiot when it came to figuring Dick out. 

“Are you ready to forgive _him?”_ Bruce asked after a few minutes of gently rocking the both of them. 

With a sniff, Damian whispered, “I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay,” he said, running his hand up and down Damian’s arm for a second, “It hurt when he left, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Damian exhaled, before he added a little more conspiratorially, “but I understand. I think about leaving sometimes, too.” 

Bruce paused in his rocking and furrowed his brows. “You do?”

Damian nodded and let out a little huff, that told Bruce he was _joking._ “Yeah.” 

Resuming in their rocking, Bruce asked, “Where would you go?” in as serious a tone as he could.

“Clark’s.” 

“Oh yeah? You think he’d harbor you?”

Damian nodded seriously, then grinned and said, “He said he would.”

“Did he, now?” he asked, and now Bruce wanted to call Clark fucking Kent and ask whether this was actually a conversation he’d had with Damian. And why. And when. And why Bruce hadn’t heard about it until now.

“Yeah, but then he said they wake up every day at 5 AM and don’t even eat breakfast until 9! Because of all the farm chores. And farm chores sound fun, but not without breakfast. And he said they don’t ever have pop-tarts in the house. And then bedtime is at 7 o’clock! _Seven_ , Dad.” 

To stress that last sentence, Damian sat up and looked Bruce straight in the eyes. The absolute horror on Damian’s face was enough to make him double over in laughter. 

He didn’t, though. He kept his composure and looked back, mirroring Damian’s horror. Because Bruce knew for a fact Clark did farm chore at his top speed. It didn’t even take him five minutes. It was how he and Lois worked while still running a farm. 

Why they lived in Hamilton, though, Bruce had no idea. He didn’t see the point. But the idea that Clark talked up the _horrors_ of running a farm just to discourage Damian from running away made Bruce want to smile. He’d have to thank Clark later.

“That sounds awful,” he said, trying to be as dramatic as believably possible. 

“Yeah,” Damian agreed, sitting back again to snuggle back down into Bruce’s hold, “So I can probably stay here.”

“That’s good. Life without pop-tarts would be a difficult one.” When all Damian did was take his hand and start playing with his fingers, he added, “And I’d really miss you if you left.” 

“I miss Dick,” Damian said, pulling Bruce’s hand back to wrap around himself as he turned fully into Bruce’s hold. 

“Me too.” 

“Do you think he will come home soon?” he mumbled into Bruce’s chest, his eyes shut as he wrapped one of his arms back around Bruce’s waist. 

“I hope so, buddy,” he said between pressing a kiss to his temple, “Are you still mad at me?” 

All Damian did was shake his head and clutch Cow closer, so Bruce started rocking them again. Dinner was in about an hour, he knew, but he was not about to put Damian down to prevent him from falling asleep. 

To be honest, Bruce would gladly sit here with Damian for the rest of his life if that’s what Damian wanted. His arms had ached to hold his son for the past several months. He’d been able to steal a few minutes here or there, when Damian forgot he was mad, or had been upset about something else. But not once had they just sat here for an hour. Not once had he taken a nap with Damian, something they used to do on the daily, years ago. 

Bruce _missed_ his sons. Both of them. And it wasn’t until that moment did he fully realized he missed Damian just as strongly as he’d been missing Dick. 

“I love you, buddy,” he whispered, as he sank down a little further into the rocking chair and closed his own eyes. 

He just barely heard Damian mumble back, “love you, too,” as he let the gentle rocking and warmth of Damian’s presence lull him off into sleep. 

There was still a lot to fix. Jason to talk to, maybe. Dick, for sure. And Damian more, most likely. But for the moment, he felt completely relaxed, and that was a lot more than he’d felt in a _long_ time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Kasy for being awesome, as always!
> 
> I'm pretty excited. I have next week's chapter half done, and same with the chapter after that. I'm hoping to get both done within the next few days so I can keep moving forward. I'm not quite sure what happens in chapter 18, but I know what all we have left to cover. Just not the exact order. We are past the half way point, now. (I think.... LOL) I love love love the next two chapters, though. :D I hope you guys will, too!
> 
> Happy Sunday!! (or Saturday, since I posted this a tad early.... xD) ❤️ you guys. Stay awesome.


	16. Attached

Jason felt a little bad for yelling at Damian. The kid was exactly that: a kid. A rich, sheltered, naive kid, who didn’t know much better. So it wasn’t _really_ his fault he was an idiot, now was it?

But he didn’t feel _too_ bad, because Damian needed to hear it all. Jason could have had more tact, sure, but the little punk was being a total brat and someone had to tell him. Alfred seemed to be staying completely out of it, because ‘Master Bruce made his bed,’ as he had said. And Bruce was too much of a pushover to say anything.

Kinda a weird revelation to have, the fact that Bruce was a total pushover. He’d come to that conclusion a couple weeks ago, when, while at the mall, all Jason had to do was look wistfully at the bookstore they were passing and next thing he knew, Bruce was buying him an armful of books.

He had already filled one entire shelf in his room with books that were _all his._ Bruce even said he could take them with him to school, if he wanted. They were his. _Forever._ He’d put his two newest favorites in his backpack, _Anne of Green Gables_ and _Frankenstein_ , so he would always have them with him. But a couple days ago he’d pulled them back out. It was much more satisfying to see them sitting prominently on his shelf. Easily accessible and always visible.

They made Jason happy, just a little, to see each morning.

Why on earth would Dick Grayson willingly _leave_ here. Honestly. Jason kinda hated to admit he’d miss it here when he went off to school.

Although, he was sure the whole _being at school_ would make that transition pretty easy.

Even now, as he finished going through this week’s math workbook, he was having a lot of fun. It was only Tuesday and he only had four more pages left. He’d started on the sixth grade math the week before, and was excited to be catching up so quickly. Every time he turned in his work, Bruce always said something about ‘slowing down or you’ll run out of work.’ But that’s what he wanted.

The further into the seventh grade workbooks he could get, the better he’d do on the placement tests in early December when he was scheduled to have an admission interview at the school they’d picked in upstate New York. He was not about to waste this chance he was being given. If he did really well at school, maybe he could score a scholarship and go to _college._

Him. Jason Todd. _College._

His mom would be so proud of him, he knew, if that happened. She always wanted him to finish school and get out.

It took him another hour to finish his math, mostly because he kept having to redo the final page because it had exponents on it, and he always did those wrong the first time around. Bruce said he’d learn, though, and that was probably right. Because this time he’d caught himself doing it wrong _before_ turning it into Bruce.

There was still his history and science workbooks to finish, but since the math was done, he figured he could bring it down for Bruce to look over anyway. That way, if he had to redo anything, he’d still have all week to do that. And if he had nothing to redo, even better. He’d spend the rest of the evening reading, since he figured Damian wouldn’t want to hang out with him after their fight. Alfred had recommended _The Outsiders,_ and so far every book Alfred had recommended had been awesome, so he was excited to read this one, as well.

Downstairs, Jason found Bruce in the library, but had to pause when he did. Because there was Bruce, sure, but he was holding Damian. And both of them were asleep.

He debated with himself for a full minute whether he should enter the room. On the one hand, he didn’t want to disturb Bruce. But Bruce was nice. Right? Bruce probably wouldn’t be mad if Jason accidentally woke him up… probably. And on the other hand, the library was where Jason usually spent his time. And Bruce kept saying Jason was welcome wherever he wanted to be. Right now, he wanted to be in the library. It’s where the next book he was going to read was, after all.

Besides, Jason would be really quiet so not to disturb Bruce _or_ Damian. So yeah. He could totally be in the library.

So, Jason set his schoolwork down on the coffee table and went to find the book Alfred recommended.

It took a few minutes, but he finally located the book, then made his way over to his favorite couch and curled up, sitting sideways on the couch just like Alfred said he could do, as long as he wasn’t wearing shoes. Jason never wore shoes inside anymore, just so he could put his feet on the couch.

He got about half a chapter into the book before his eyes started straying from the page to look over at Bruce and Damian.

Wasn’t Damian a little old to be cuddled like that? The last time Jason’s mom had held him like that he was probably four or five, but he couldn’t exactly remember. Damian was almost seven.

But… he looked so relaxed, hugging onto his stupid toy cow and snuggled into Bruce’s shirt. And the fact that he wasn’t tense at all with Bruce’s arms around him was another point that stuck out to him. Jason had never been able to relax whenever his dad hugged him.

Which did happen, sometimes. Like that time Dad grabbed him and held him close, while his ‘friends’ were ranting about all the money Dad owed them. They’d threatened to ‘take his kid’ as repayment, and Dad had threatened to kill every one of them if they so much as touched Jason. He’d been five at the time, and absolutely terrified, because one second they were walking home from the store and the next they were cornered in an alley and Dad was shaking with anger, holding him tight.

It wasn’t quite the same as how Bruce was holding Damian, but Dad hadn’t put him down, even after the thugs left. He’d carried Jason all the way back to their apartment and only finally set him down once they were inside.

“Don’t tell your mother,” Dad had eventually said, before he put away the bag of groceries they’d bought, then opened a beer. Jason had gone to hide in his room after that.

No, Bruce was nothing like Willis. That much was obvious. Bruce wasn’t protecting Damian right now. He was just… holding him. For no reason. Probably because they both enjoyed it.

Bruce was a good dad, he decided. If only Willis had been a good dad, instead of being an asshole most of the time. A criminal and… and… abusive. As he was, he deserved to die in prison.

It wasn’t _fair._

What had he ever _done?_

No, scratch that. He knew he hadn’t done anything. It’s just how life was. Life wasn’t _fair._ No matter what he did, Jason always got the short end of the stick, and Jason hated it. All he wanted was for… for… to have what Damian had.

Jason growled at himself, quietly, and tried to refocus back on his book. He was dangerously close to crying, and he _hated_ that. He cried way too much now. Well, okay, so he’d only done it like two times. Or three. But still, that was more times in a two month period than he’d cried in three _years._

He hadn’t even cried when some of Falcone’s men beat him bloody for trying to steal from them, back when he was ten. And if he were going to cry, that probably would have been an appropriate time. Not _now._ Not because he felt sorry for himself for having shitty dad.

Pathetic.

That’s exactly what Jason was.

Here he was, sitting in Wayne Freaking Manor, reading in a beautiful library straight out of his dreams, with a full belly and warm clothes on. He had absolutely nothing to complain about in life at the moment, no reason why tears should be pricking at his eyes, so he should just stop.

Who cared if he wished his dad had treated him the way Bruce treated Damian. Or if maybe _Bruce_ could treat him that way... No that was stupid. Bruce wasn’t his dad. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was lucky enough as it was, he needed to not push it.

Besides, he only had three more months left, then he could go off to school and push all these thoughts out of his head. Make all these stupid feelings go away and go back to normal. Or, well, probably a new normal, but still.

Jason shut his eyes tight then opened them again, after a second, in hopes of clearing it all away so he could read. He was startled, not even a minute later, though when Bruce took a deep breath and then stirred.

“Oh,” he said, half yawning as he adjusted Damian in his arms, “Hey, Jay. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he mumbled in response, sinking down a little further so his face was fully hidden in the book. He didn’t know exactly how his face looked, but Bruce had that annoying habit of being able to read him, and he didn’t want that. Not at all.

“Hm,” Bruce hummed, then stayed silent for another minute, during which Jason tried in vain to refocus on his book. He couldn’t, though, and then Bruce was saying, “What are you reading?”

“The Outsiders,” he replied, trying but failing to get his voice up above a mumble.

Bruce’s chair creaked as he rocked it a couple times, before he said thoughtfully, “I haven’t read that one.”

“Me neither. Alfred recommended it.”

“Must be good then,” Bruce said, sitting up a little more, “Have you finished your mathbook? Is that what I see there?”

“Yeah.” He’d honestly forgotten all about that, but the workbook was still sitting on the coffee table. Maybe he could use it to distract himself. Bruce could find something he did wrong and he’d have something to think about to get his mind off everything.

“Want me to check it over?” Bruce asked as he sat fully up and looked down at Damian, “I think we’ve got a few minutes still until dinner.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Jason said with a sigh, closing his book and sitting up, himself. He grabbed the workbook and went over to the table, where he and Bruce usually went over his work.

Damian whined when Bruce pulled the blanket off him, then got louder when Bruce said, “Up, buddy. Time to wake up.”

“No,” Damian said, like getting up was the single most difficult thing he would ever have to do, “M’tired.”

“Uh huh,” Bruce said as he lifted Damian up and set him on his feet. He kissed the side of Damian’s head before adding, “Come now, wake up or you won’t sleep tonight, and your boredom while you lie in bed awake is not going to be my problem.”

“Dad,” Damian whined, slumping back against Bruce, who just pushed him back to his feet.

“Go see if Alfred needs help fixing dinner while I look over Jason’s homework.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled, finally standing up fully and shuffling off, out of the room.

“He’s such a dramatic child,” Bruce commented as he got up himself and joined Jason at the table. When he sat down, he leveled Jason with such a warm smile that he kind of just froze in place and stared.

And all his thoughts got thrown right back to what he didn’t want to think about. He should be thankful for what he had, not longing for _more._ God, Jason kind of hated himself. Being stupid like this.

All he could do was nod when he finally shook himself of it and look down at his closed workbook.

“You sure you’re okay, lad?” Bruce asked, setting a hand on Jason’s back.

Shrugging him off, Jason snapped, half heartedly, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, well,” Bruce said, and floundered a little as he frowned hard. He knit his eyebrows while he just observed Jason, then finally said, “Let’s see what you’ve done.”

They went through the first half of his workbook without much issue. Jason managed to focus on just the homework until they hit a page where Jason had done every single problem wrong.

It wasn’t even something difficult. He knew how to work out equations and solve for X, but he must have been moving too quickly because he screwed up about ten problems right in a row with a very simple mistake.

“That’s all right,” Bruce was saying, every time he marked another problem wrong, “Same mistake here. Just remember to do the same thing to both sides, yeah?”

Jason nodded, because it was all he could really do.

Bruce was so fucking nice. It was kind of sickening.

No matter what he did, how much he messed up, or how he messed up, Bruce just smiled and said nice, encouraging things. And when he didn’t screw up, he gushed about how great Jason was doing.

It was reminding him a lot of his mom, back during the good days. Before she started using. Back when she would be so proud of him for reading on his own, or recognizing sight words, or even just tying his shoes.

He missed her _so much._ Would she still be proud of him? Today? If she hadn’t gotten into drugs, or if she’d gotten clean? Would she be happy he was catching up in school? Even though he’d spend the past two and a half years stealing and conning and cheating? Bruce didn’t seem to mind. He’d stolen directly from Bruce, and he didn’t even care. Jason had the feeling if he just packed a bag and left, taking one of Bruce’s fancy watches with him, Bruce wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. Except maybe track him down and ask what was wrong and how he could make Jason feel safer and happier.

“Jay, lad,” Bruce murmured, and that’s when Jason realized Bruce had set a hand on his shoulder. And he was maybe almost crying. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, and already hated himself for it, but also couldn’t deal with doing anything but snap. Because if he didn’t switch to anger now, he was going to start bawling his eyes out for no damn reason and Bruce would probably hug him and that would make it so. much. worse.

“Jay-“

“I’m fine, just drop it,” he almost snarled, shaking his shoulder so Bruce would stop massaging it or whatever the fuck he was doing that was actually helping, but not in the way Jason wanted. He wanted to not get attached, not… not whatever this was.

When Bruce’s face twitched, though, Jason’s stomach twisted just a little. Because Bruce was clearly annoyed. But he immediately squashed down the panic the thought caused, because Bruce wasn’t like that. He said it himself: he doesn’t hit.

It was a weird thought to let settle in his chest and stay there.

Because Jason wasn’t used to guys like Bruce not hitting. Big and scary looking guys, always looking for a good power trip. A scrawny little brat to beat on, as if they needed to pick on someone so helpless to feel strong.

But Bruce was a good dad. And even though he wasn’t Jason’s dad, he still wasn’t going to be bad to Jason.

And it was weird, because Jason knew _Batman_ hit people. All the time. It was kind of his schtick. But like Bruce and Damian and Alfred all said, Bruce didn’t hit children. Jason would wager that Bruce didn’t hit anyone at all. Because, just like he said, _Batman_ hits _Robin._ And even then, it’s not an angry hitting. It’s practice. Training.

Bruce was Batman when he taught Jason self-defense, but they hadn’t gotten to hitting yet. Jason had been working mostly on blocking, so far. Blocks and forms. Bruce had slowly ‘punched’ Jason a few times, really just helping Jason work through the movements.

Even if they get to the point of doing real punches and real blocks, Jason wasn’t scared. Because _Bruce_ did not hit, and Batman did not hit children. He protected them. Just like he’d done when he trained Robin, and taught Damian and Jason self-defense.

The ease at which he’d come to trust that was worrying, to him at least. But his mom had also never hit, so he knew it was _possible_  for adults to act that way.

And the feeling it left behind, the desire to drop his shoulders. To close his eyes. To stop listening and _thinking_ was probably the really scary thing. Because it almost felt like safety. Jason had learned a long time ago that there was no such thing as safety, and yet. Sitting next to Bruce. Living in Bruce’s house… felt like safety.

And he didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

Especially since he only had a couple more months before he was going to leave.

Jason wasn’t even startled when Bruce wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into his side. It wasn’t quite a hug, but he’d been expecting it, and he knew Bruce was just concerned because he’d randomly started crying during homework. For no good reason.

Just like he’d anticipated, it didn’t help at all. Because Bruce was just so nice, and Jason couldn’t have this forever.

“Let go of me,” Jason said half-heartedly between sobs, even as he dropped his shoulders and scrubbed at his eyes, sinking into the hold a little.

Bruce hummed and ignored his request completely in favor of running his hand up and down Jason’s arm. “Tell me why you’re crying.”

“I’m not,” Jason mumbled, then sniffed. Knowing Bruce was not going to buy it, because he clearly _was_ crying, he said, “You’re an asshole. That’s why.”

“I am?” Bruce asked, and he made his voice sound so scandalized while clearly being amused, it made Jason laugh.

After taking another moment to compose himself and rub at his eyes again, he nodded and said, “Yeah,” trying his best to smile.

Wrapping his other arm around in front of Jason, Bruce squeezed just a little tighter and said, “Why am I an asshole?”

“You just are,” Jason said, resisting the urge to start up again over the damn hug. Because he hadn’t been hugged in years. Like, three years, at least. And he just now remembered that and it was _not helping._ His brain hated him, he was fairly certain. Reminding him of this kind of shit at just the wrong time. “It’s because of your face.”

“My face?” Bruce said, laughing, “I apologize for my face, then.”

“You should.”

It took another couple minutes to fully calm back down, and when he finally did, Bruce let go, but left his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t,” Jason said, rolling his shoulders as he sat back up and picked his pencil up, “I want you to finish grading this so I can start the next packet.”

“No more schoolwork tonight, Jase,” Bruce said as he shut Jason’s book and stood, “How about we go see if dinner is ready yet. Then maybe we can watch a movie.”

“But-” Jason started to protest, but Bruce set his hand on top of his head and leaned over to be right in his field of vision.

“But nothing, son, you have plenty of time to finish catching up.” He tugged at Jason’s arm, gently, and added, “Now come on. I heard Alfred was making pizza tonight, anyway. You like his pizza, right?”

Jason smiled as he trailed along after Bruce.

He was, absolutely, royally, screwed. Because he was getting attached and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But he could probably enjoy Alfred’s pizza while he was there, right? And worry about everything in January. When it came time to leave.

Yeah.

That’s what he’d do. Worry about it later.

At least he was safe. Maybe he could just enjoy that for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [I asked on Tumblr for headcanon's for Jason's favorite books](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/post/187223848212/any-head-canons-on-what-jasons-favorite-books#notes) and got a lot of awesome responses. So check out the notes on that if you want to see the conversation, or add to it! I'd love to hear more opinions. All three titles referenced in this chapter were from suggestions, so thanks so much to everyone who gave their opinion.
> 
> This fic hit 500 subscribers this week and I'm kinda like blown away by that? Wasn't expecting it at all. So I love you guys, thanks for reading. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Happy Labor Day! Hope you're having a wonderful holiday weekend, or just a wonderful weekend for those of you outside the US! See ya next week! :D


	17. Nightmares

Every night after patrol, Bruce had to check on Damian. He knew he would not sleep unless he laid eyes on his little boy, so instead of trying, he always poked his head into Damian’s room, just for a second. Long enough so his eyes could adjust and he could see the tiny form that was his son. Make sure he was still in his bed, right where he belonged.

That night was no different from any other. Bruce got back from patrol and was absolutely exhausted. Not only had it been a long day, with Dick visiting, Damian forgiving him, and Jason’s breakdown, but it had been a long night, as well. The Riddler had escaped from Arkham, and while that in itself wasn’t a huge deal, tonight’s puzzle had him bouncing all over Gotham. All night long. Catwoman tagged along, which made the night a tad more enjoyable, but no less exhausting. 

So when Bruce got a quick peek of Damian sleeping, he was more than ready to hit the hay. But a strange sound stopped him in his tracks. 

Had it come from Damian’s room, he would have immediately entered the room and comforted his crying son.

But it hadn’t.

Jason’s room was something he did not go _near_ at night. They had slowly been building that tentative trust he’d come to cherish. The small little nugget that meant Bruce saw shy smiles and heard random jokes and comments throughout the day. He got to pat Jason’s back or brush against him accidentally, without triggering panic attacks. And, Jason would sit next to him. Completely within reach, even if it wasn’t as close as Damian or Dick sat. Sometimes, as the day had proved, he’d even let Bruce in. Even if just a step. 

That trust was so precious to Bruce, what little of it he had, he didn’t want to risk losing it.

And considering what Jason had been convinced Bruce wanted him for originally, he had decided to completely avoid doing _anything_ that might suggest Jason was right. 

Going near his room, while he was in there alone, at night, sleeping, was most certainly something he should avoid doing. 

The sob he’d heard before sounded again, this time a little louder. A second later, Bruce heard shuffling from inside the room, then a loud thump as something hit the ground. 

With a breath, he walked over to Jason’s door and quietly knocked. 

“Jay,” he said hesitantly, not moving to open the door, but rather just listen, “Son, are you all right?”

“Yes,” came the muffled reply, much too shaky to be anywhere near convincing. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, frowning, “It sounded like you fell out of bed.”

“Well I didn’t,” Jason replied testily, and Bruce could hear clear as day when Jason climbed back up into bed, because the springs squeaked.

Bruce hesitated for a second, then asked, “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Maybe.”

Poor kid must have woken in a panic and gotten tangled in the blanket. Oh Jay… At least he was sleeping at night, though, Bruce supposed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, reaching down for the knob, then pausing to wait for the answer.

“No,” Jason said forcefully, so Bruce sighed and rubbed at his face. 

He knew from both of his kids that children typically did not like being alone after a nightmare, but he wasn’t quite sure if the desire for company would translate to a child with trust-issues. He’d had Jason for a few months, and so far he’d not seen a single sign that Jason had nightmares. The boy hadn’t come to him once about them, not that Bruce really expected him to. Dick and Damian usually came and woke him up. No matter how much he wished Jason would, he couldn’t see the boy doing that quite yet.

“Do you want to come downstairs and have hot chocolate with me?” Bruce ventured, “and watch a movie?”

Jason took so long to answer, Bruce started to wonder whether he’d fallen back asleep, but then he finally said, “maybe,” and Bruce just smiled.

“Okay, well I’m going downstairs to make the hot chocolate. If you want to join me, I’ll be in the den.”

“Okay,” Jason whispered. Bruce didn’t hear any immediate movement to follow him, so he decided to go on and get it all ready. 

Bruce had to blink hard to clear his vision, once he made it down to the kitchen. He’d gone longer before without sleep, he could make it another couple hours. Probably. That 30-minute nap earlier in the day should be helping him more than it was. Maybe he’d just spent so much emotional energy it was inconsequential how many naps he took. The perks of being an introvert… he only had so much energy.

Maybe Jason wouldn’t even show and he’d just fall asleep in the den. Alfred wouldn’t be thrilled, but he’d get over it.

It took him about five minutes to put together some hot chocolate. He wasn’t an expert or anything, but he’d learned the art of making instant hot chocolate years ago. It was one of Dick’s favorite treats for sleepless nights, and neither of them ever wanted to wake Alfred over something as simple as heating up milk and stirring in the chocolate mix. 

Alfred would make it from scratch, of course, but this was an adequate substitute if it meant letting the man get his rest. 

Jason finally came shuffling in a few minutes after Bruce had settled down in the den. He had started flipping through the kids’ movies, trying to find one he knew wouldn’t incite more nightmares. Things like parents’ dying was such a prevalent theme in children’s movies… He’d considered many times while Dick was growing up creating a whole new folder on the server that contained only safe movies, free of all triggers. But he knew Dick would be outraged at being handled with ‘kiddy gloves,’ so Bruce just did his best to watch all the movies they put on the server and keep in mind which ones were no good. 

“Monster’s Inc,” Jason mumbled, as he leaned up against the couch behind Bruce and blinked sleepily at the screen in front of them. 

Bruce turned the movie over in his head for a second, and frowned. It had kidnapping and banishment from society in it, and he wasn’t sure how Jason would take it.

“Have you seen it before?” He was leaning more toward something like Mulan. 

Mulan was probably safe. Her parents weren't dead. There was no kidnapping or trafficking of the main characters. The emperor got held hostage, but Mulan saved him fairly quickly. And, Mulan defied everyone’s expectations of her and showed ‘all of China’ how incredible she was. 

Yeah. Mulan would be good. 

“No,” Jason said, leaning more of his weight on the back of the couch. 

“Let’s save Monster’s Inc for a family movie night, yeah? We can do that next week. Want to watch Mulan?”

“Whatever, fine.”

Looking over at Jason’s face, Bruce saw that he was closing his eyes, as if he were going to fall asleep right there, standing up. Bruce pat at the couch next to him and said, “Come sit down, Jaylad. I’ve got your hot chocolate right here.” 

Jason’s eyes followed his hand as it motioned toward the hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table and slowly made his way around the couch. To Bruce’s delight, he sat down right next to Bruce, rather than in one of the arm chairs, where he usually sat when they watched movies in this room. 

The first twenty minutes of the film went by in silence. They both drank their chocolate and sat in relative comfort. Bruce eventually put his arm on the couch behind Jason, but was careful not to actually touch him. He counted it as a win when Jason didn’t even react. 

Another half hour in, Jason tugged a pillow from the other end of the couch and set it down right next to Bruce, then lay down on it, his head right next to Bruce’s leg and his own legs curled up. Bruce pulled a blanket from the basket under the end table and spread it out over Jason, who hummed in thanks as he snuggled down with it. 

Bruce’s instinct was to run his hand through Jason’s hair and ask how he was doing, but he decided against it. Instead, he put his arm back up on the couch behind Jason, hoping that alone conveyed to the boy he was there. The last thing he wanted was to overstep and break what they had painstakingly built.

The songs in the movie were doing nicely to lull Bruce to sleep. He’d closed his eyes several times, and forced himself to open them back up when he felt himself start to drift. Falling asleep on Jason wouldn’t be very helpful.

When Jason spoke up, near the end of the movie, the sound startled Bruce, snapping him back to attention. 

“My dad died in prison,” he said, bluntly. With no real emotion. 

Jason didn’t often open up. Not fully, at least. Really, Bruce could only think of one time he’d actually told Bruce why he was upset about something. And he certainly had _never_ come to Bruce and started talking after the crying was done. 

The kid bottled his emotions up and kept everything to himself. And considering he was clearly an emotional kid, it was honestly surprising he didn’t have _more_ meltdowns over it. Bruce was not about to squash any little reach out for help Jason made.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, shifting a little so he was facing Jason more. Letting him know he was there. 

After a deep, stuttered breath, Jason explained, “I usedta wish he’d get out and come get me. I thought… that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d feed me. And protect me from the gangs and traffickers. And pay rent, probably. And I could go to school. He wasn’t very nice, but he at least did all that.”

“Yeah?“ Bruce said, trying to sound encouraging. He hated Willis Todd, despite having never met the man. _Hated_ him for everything he’d put Jason through. But he was still Jason’s father, and it came as no real surprise that Jason was upset over him again.

“My dream was- I-,” Jason paused when his voice squeaked, and took a couple breaths before he got out, a little less shaky, “He came back. And he took me… back. I had to go live with him, because he’s my dad and stuff.”

That wasn’t quite where he’d expected Jason to go with that, because he sounded so _distraught_ over the prospect. 

“And-And,” Jason said, devolving into tears as he pulled the blanket up to his face and continued on, “I don’t want that anymore. I know that won’t happen. That’s impossible. He’s _dead._ But…” 

Actually, Bruce was proud of Jason for being distraught over that. It was about time he realized he deserved better than Willis.

Jason sighed, and Bruce could just feel when he let go of whatever wall he’d still had up. Whatever little gate he’d been holding onto, as he tried to share enough without sharing _everything._ Because he relaxed, a touch more, and buried his face in the blanket as he whispered out, “Why am I still so scared of him?”

“Oh, Jay,” Bruce said, finally letting his hand come down off the couch and card through Jason’s hair. He hesitated, just briefly, but then decided to screw caution. If Jason really hated it, he’d stop. 

But Jason didn’t hate it. He started crying harder, so Bruce kept it up as he whispered various iterations of “it’s okay” to him and let him cry. 

This kid was going to be the death of him. 

Jason had so much to cry about. So much repressed trauma, and Bruce knew they had barely brushed the surface of everything he’d experienced while on the street. He was almost afraid to learn whether Jason had justifications for some of his more heartbreaking fears. Actual experiences with them, that is.

Therapy.

That’s what this child needed. A lot of it. 

It’s not something he’d ever suggested to Dick. Not seriously, at least. He probably should have, looking back. Hell, _Bruce_ should have gone, as a child. But that was in the past, long before he’d learned for himself how much it really helped to have someone to bounce thoughts off of and work through problems and unhealthy thought cycles. Having a person detached from the situation, not emotionally involved the way any of his family or friends were, was incredibly helpful.

Maybe Karen would be willing to speak with Jason. He wasn’t actually sure if she saw children, but going to her would be _much_ easier than vetting out another therapist to be let in on _the_ secret. It wouldn't be useful if Jason had to lie and keep secrets.

“I’m so pathetic,” Jason whined, after his sobs had quieted down to occasional sniffles, “crying because I’m scared of a dead man.”

Yep. Bruce was going to broach the therapy idea in the morning. For sure.

“No, Jason,” he insisted, patting at Jason’s head as he did, “Child abuse isn’t something you can just get over because the abuser dies. You are not pathetic.” 

Jason’s lips wobbled, so Bruce started back up with the hair thing and asked, “You know what you are?”

“What?” Jason asked miserably, closing his eyes and squeezing out a few more tears, which he then wiped away with his blanketed fist.

“You are brave,” Bruce said, moving his hand to Jason’s chest and patting for a second, getting Jason to look up at him, “Strong. Smart. Kind. Funny. Clever. Sweet. Resourceful. Resilient.”

“Now you’re just running down into synonyms,” Jason said, looking away, but Bruce could see the tiny little smile. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Jay.”

Jason shrugged, and rubbed at his eyes again. “S’okay. You’re nice.”

With a sigh, Bruce closed his eyes and said tiredly, “It’s not okay. But I’m glad you think so, you deserve to have people be nice to you.” 

Bruce could feel when Jason’s breath stuttered, because his hand was still on him, but he recovered and nodded. Opening his eyes, Bruce looked down to see Jason staring blankly at the TV, which had begun playing the end credits for the movie, as he clearly let Bruce’s statement turn over in his head. The sentiment going to war with his own destructive beliefs about himself. Based on his frown, Bruce’s view of Jason wasn’t winning.

“You are such a great kid, Jason,” Bruce said, starting to rub circles. Trying to comfort Jason in the same way he would Damian. Or Dick, when he was a little younger. “You deserve to be cared for and about. You deserve so much more than what this world handed you. And you deserve better than your father.”

“Bruce,” Jason whined, as he started sobbing all over again. And there was so much _relief_ in his cry, it threatened to make Bruce cry, too. 

“And hey,” he whispered, getting up so he could kneel right in front of Jason’s face. Brushing Jason’s hair out of his face, successfully earning eye contact from the boy, he continued, “Even if your dad wasn’t dead, and he did come back, do you really think I’d let him have you?”

When all Jason did was pinch his face up in clear confusion, as if he were thinking ‘what say would you have in it?’ Bruce smiled and ruffled his hair. 

“I’m your foster father, Jay. I do have a little bit of say in all that, and if something like that were to happen, I’d fight for you. I’d never let someone who is going to mistreat you take you away.” 

The hope- the _happiness_ that flickered across Jason’s eyes was probably the most heartbreaking thing of the entire night. 

“Really?” Jay whispered, and Bruce couldn’t help it. Screw overstepping. It would be easier to apologize for overstepping than it would be to fix the damage done through neglect, he supposed. A lesson he learned the hard way with Dick. 

He leaned forward and planted a kiss on Jason’s forehead as he said, “Yes, really. You’re worth it,” causing the boy to close his eyes and sigh contentedly.

“Thank you,” Jason said, his voice so quiet Bruce almost didn’t catch it. 

Bruce settled back down on the couch and threw his feet up on the coffee table and draped his arm over Jason. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” 

When Jason nodded and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he shifted under Bruce’s arm, but not attempting to dislodge it, Bruce smiled. Because they were moving toward true, full trust.

And when Bruce woke up in the morning to find Jason still fast asleep, curled up under his arm with a peaceful expression on his face, he thought maybe they were _at_ trust. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no idea what I'm doing with these chapter titles. LOL I tried to name this one 'trust' and realized I already used that before. -_- Giving things titles, be it the entire fic or the chapters is like my major weakness.
> 
> THIS fic, by the way, got its name from a scene that got cut! How exciting is that! So now its name won't make immediate sense from the story. 😂 I think I have an idea how to weave it in, though, so we'll see.
> 
> OH, I also finished outlining this story, since as I've told you guys, it's changed several times as I've been writing it. I have plans for 27 chapters, with the possibility of it decreasing to 26 or increasing to 28 depending on two chapters in particular and how long they want to be. Then an epilogue. I'm gonna keep it as /? until I get a little closer and have a better idea of the length of those chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all. I love comments and kudos and and you guys!! ❤️


	18. Thinking

Bruce was a massive asshole. Jason was convinced. 

Nice, of course. Sickeningly so sometimes, but still an asshole. It was basically fact.

All Jason wanted to do was forget about all the times he’d cried in front of the man. Was that too much to ask? Just ignore it ever happened and move on with life. Seemed simple enough to Jason. _He_ could do that just fine, after all. 

But could Bruce?

No. Of course not.

The morning after Jason had pathetically cried himself to sleep in Bruce’s freaking _arms,_ all because he didn’t want to be taken away, something that _wasn’t even a possibility,_ Bruce had suggested therapy.

_Therapy._

Like Jason were _crazy._ Or _broken._

Jason was neither of those things. 

He didn’t need fucking _therapy._

But, that’s probably what Bruce saw as the only way to get Jason to go to boarding school. Since Jason had made the stupid, stupid, _stupid_ mistake of telling Bruce he liked it here. 

Now they’d need to get Jason all therapied up and ‘fix’ that. Obviously. Bruce had offered his home in the summers. Not all year round. 

Jason wasn’t even sure why Bruce was cool with the summers. Why would a nice, rich guy like Bruce want a thieving street rat in his house at all? Around his kid? Wasn’t he afraid Jason would fuck Damian up? Probably. He was probably counting on Jason making friends at school and spending the summers with them, like he’d said, so the offer of coming back here would be pointless. 

Bruce said lots of nice stuff about him, though… But he was probably doing that so he could sell all those ideas to the school. Because why would a rich person _school_ want a thieving street rat? Around all those other rich kids? They wouldn’t. And neither would the other parents. They’d want the ‘smart, great kid,’ Bruce sold them. 

Stupid. 

He was so stupid, letting a dumb hug and offer of comfort get to him like that. He should have never told Bruce about his dream. It was none of Bruce’s business. Jason had nightmares _all the time,_ he was perfectly capable of handling them himself. All he had to do was roll over and ignore it… or try, at least. 

_Not_ go crying and looking for hugs. Especially not from people he couldn’t keep.

_Don’t get attached, idiot._

Bruce, thankfully, let the issue drop after Jason yelled at him about it. After Jason told Bruce to ‘fuck off,’ more accurately. Bruce had sighed, but left him alone afterward. 

But another side effect of his stupid crying session was now Bruce seemed to think he could touch Jason whenever he wanted. Jason had already been hugged _five times_ in the two weeks since. Completely out of the blue, each time. Bruce would walk up behind Jason and wrap an arm around him, for no damn reason other than Bruce was about to leave the house and felt the need to include Jason in the goodbye hugs.

It was fucking weird.

And it was not, at all, helping. All it was doing was confusing Jason. 

Mixed signals. That's what Jason was getting.

Because did Bruce want Jason gone or not? Or was this just how nice people acted to kids in their house? To Jason it seemed like _Bruce_ was getting attached.

But that was dumb.

Why would _Bruce Wayne_ want a kid like him?

Then again… why would Bruce Wayne want some circus brat?

“Jason,” Bruce said, causing Jason to jump slightly, where he was sitting at the breakfast table. 

“What?” he snapped, shoving a bite of cold eggs into his mouth. He needed to quit zoning out. He was starting to do it way too often.

“You okay there?” Bruce asked, frowning as if he could see right through Jason. Because of _course_ he fucking could. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a minute.” 

Jason looked over towards Damian, probably to make a face at him, but noticed that Damian wasn’t at the table any longer. And Bruce’s plate was empty, too. Man. He zoned out hard that time.

“Fine,” he grumbled, poking at what was left on his plate.

“Did you sleep well last night? 

Scowling at that, Jason let his fork clank loudly against the probably stupid expensive plate. No, he hadn’t slept well. And that was none of Bruce’s business. “Fine,” he replied testily. 

After sighing and rubbing at his face, Bruce asked tiredly, “What’s going on, lad? Is everything okay?”

“What are you, my fucking therapist?” Jason snapped, standing to retreat to his room. The screech of his chair made Bruce wince, and Jason felt a little victorious at that. 

Or maybe he winced at the therapist comment. 

Whatever. Good. Bruce deserved to feel bad about that. Jason still wasn’t over it.

Jason carried his dishes into the kitchen and put them in the sink so Alfred could do them once he returned from dropping Damian off. Jason had offered to help with the chores many, many times, but Alfred always turned him down. He did usually let Jason sit with him in the kitchen, though, and chat. Some of the best conversations Jason had ever had about literature had occurred sitting in this very kitchen. 

Just another thing Jason would miss once he left for school.

Maybe he could call Alfred, or something, while away. Alfie would like that, right? He seemed to genuinely enjoy Jason’s company, now, at least. Maybe it was all an act though… part of his job to be nice to the brats Bruce brought into the house.

“Jay, wait,” Bruce called, forcing Jason to turn around and poke his head back into the connected dinning room, “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Jason asked, and it must have shown on his face how his stomach immediately dropped, and dread coiled itself up right inside. 

“It’s nothing bad, lad, I promise. Come sit down.” 

After eyeing the spot at the table Bruce pat at, Jason reluctantly made his way over and slowly sat down. He was probably an idiot for sitting within reach of Bruce, especially after pressing his buttons like that. But he seemed perfectly calm. And not doing what he said would probably just actually set him off. 

“Remember how I told you one of my friends was coming to stay with us?”

“No.” But Jason didn’t always listen when Bruce was talking. Especially if Bruce interrupted him while reading. Bruce did that a lot. It was just more evidence that he was, in fact, an asshole. 

“Well,” Bruce said slowly, “My friend from Star City will be in Gotham for business and he needs someone to watch his son in the meantime, so I offered for them both to stay here for the week. They’re good people, I wouldn’t be friends with them if they weren’t.”

“Okay,” Jason said, shrugging, because he wasn’t quite sure what this had to do with him. Did Bruce want him to hide, so they wouldn’t see him? Be nice to the brat? Bruce didn’t really have to tell him to be nice to a kid. He would, anyway. He was nice to Damian, after all, even if Damian could be a spoiled brat sometimes. He was just a kid, he didn’t need Jason’s shit. 

“The boy’s name is Roy,” Bruce said, smiling, almost like he’d gotten the reaction he wanted out of Jason. Which was weird. Because Jason didn’t give him any sort of reaction. “He’s a couple years older than you, but I think you two could get along pretty well if you give him a chance.” 

Now Jason saw where this was going.

“I’m not interested in having a playdate with some rich snob.” 

Bruce shrugged. “You don’t have to ‘play’ with him if you don’t want to. But he’s a good kid, and I think you two have more in common than you assume. Oliver adopted him a couple years ago.”

Wouldn’t that give him more in common with _Dick Grayson?_ And not Jason? Since Dick was the adopted one?

“I need you to do me a favor, though, while they’re here.” 

“What’s that?” Jason asked, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t one for doing _favors_ for anyone. And he thought Bruce knew that.

“Watch your language. You really need to work on cleaning it up, anyway. If you talk like at school, you’ll be expelled.” 

“They’re just _words,”_ Jason protested. Because they were. And Bruce hadn’t said a damn thing so far about it. _Bruce_ even cussed, sometimes. Alfred didn’t like it, of course, so Jason held his tongue for Alfred. But Alfred was a proper, fancy British guy. And he was _Alfred._

“I don’t want to start a swear jar or something,” Bruce said, “so I need you to show me you can clean up your language, or we’ll have come up with something.”

“What’s a swear jar?”

“It’s a jar where, every time you cuss, you put a dollar in, but-”

“A dollar,” Jason shouted, shifting to where he was sitting on his knees now, closer to Bruce’s height while siting down, “Where the fuck am I supposed to get a _dollar?”_

Bruce was _not_ going to make him do anything to earn money. There were only so many ways kids his age could even make money, and none of them were honest, and most of them were highly unpleasant. That was why he’d chosen to steal. Bruce had said he _didn’t have_ to steal anymore. How could he just take that all back.

“Jay,” Bruce said, placing a hand on Jason’s back and rubbing circles, “Calm down, lad. I said I don’t want to start one, okay?”

“Then why’d you bring it up,” Jason shouted, rolling his shoulders to make Bruce remove his stupid hand. 

“I was just giving an example, we will discuss consequences if it becomes necessary, all right?” 

_Consequences._

‘ _He knew the consequences, Cathy.’_

Bruce couldn’t just… he couldn’t…

“You aren’t my dad, you can’t-” Jason tried, but was horrified to hear his own sentence choke off.

This house was supposed to be different. It had been different. Bruce wasn’t his dad. He wasn’t his dad. He wouldn’t-

“Jay,” Bruce said, gently, as placed his hand against Jason’s cheek and slowly turned his head. Jason felt his breath stutter and squeezed his eyes tight.

_’Look at me when I’m talking to you.’_

“Jay, hey. I need you to calm down. You _know_ I would never hurt you.” 

_‘If you didn’t want it to hurt, maybe you should have fucking listened.’_

When Jason didn’t open his eyes, Bruce said, “Jay, I’m going to hug you. Is that okay?” 

Jason didn’t really hear him, though. Sure he _heard_ the words, but his mind was rushing, and all he could do was press his fingers into his eyes, trying to get his brain to shut up and let him think. 

He snapped back to attention, though, when Bruce tenderly pulled him forward, his arms trapping Jason against his chest. It felt both incredibly suffocating and almost a little comforting. 

But not near enough.

“Stop,” Jason gasped, pushing at Bruce’s chest, trying to break free, “Get off me.” 

Bruce let go so fast, it was like he thought Jason was about to bite or something. As if Jason didn’t know doing such a thing was a terrible idea, when done against someone so much bigger and with so much control. 

“Jay-”

“No,” he said, scrambling to his feet and backing up, toward the door, “I’ll watch my _fucking_ language, okay? I won’t upset your friends and I won’t get expelled from school. Just fu- Just leave me alone.” 

“Jason,” Bruce called after him, but Jason didn’t care. 

He ran up to his room and slammed the door shut, then actually locked the knob. He didn’t do that much, anymore. Mostly because it just meant he had to get out of bed and unlock it whenever someone wanted to come in, and that was exhausting. 

After staring at the door for a few seconds, he moved the chair up and under the knob, just in case, then flung himself at his bed. 

Bruce didn’t follow him, though. Of course. Jason hadn’t really thought he would. He usually left Jason alone to ‘throw his fits,’ as he always called it whenever Damian stormed off, then came up a while later to check on him. 

Why did Bruce even care about his language? After all this time? Damian had told him about Alfred’s rule pretty much the first day, and since Alfred could just stop feeding him if he got mad enough, Jason has been very careful around Alfred.

But other than ‘don’t hurt Damian’s feelings on purpose,’ Bruce hadn’t required anything of Jason. _Nothing._ Why would he change that now? After three months? What _else_ was he going to change?

Jason closed his eyes and buried his face in his pillow, trying to block out the world and silence his own mind. Maybe he’d feel better after a nap. 

Alfred said that, sometimes. “Perhaps you will feel better after some sleep.”

He could only hope.

\- - - 

Jason spent the rest of the day in his room, ignoring the world and, thankfully, being ignored. When Bruce came to get him to meet their ‘guests’ sometime after lunch, he didn’t say a single word about the chair blocking the door _or_ Jason’s fit that morning. He just smiled and motioned for Jason to follow him downstairs.

Roy Harper was fourteen-years-old. And he was _definitely_ Speedy. Jason wasn’t _that_ stupid, and it was kind of annoying that everyone was acting like he was. 

Jason had looked Oliver Queen up on the tablet in his room, and it hadn’t taken more than ten minutes to connect Oliver Queen and Roy Harper to Green Arrow and Speedy. 

Besides, Selina had told him herself, Bruce didn’t have any friends outside the superhero world. Not really. His best friend was Superman, and he sometimes spent time with the other heroes with kids, so Dick and Damian could spend time with other kids who ‘got it.’ Or whatever. 

Plus, once he’d seen the red hair of Roy matched the red hair of Speedy, and the same was true for Oliver’s blond, he couldn’t just unsee it. It was way too large a coincidence, if untrue. Therefore, it _had_ to be true. 

Honestly, it was like they weren’t even trying to keep it a secret from Jason.

Except.

They clearly _were._ Because when Oliver—Jason was _not_ calling him Mr. Queen. Adults would get respect from him when they earned it, not before—came in, he started acting like he and Bruce were actually friends, not just fellow Justice League members. 

When Oliver started a story with, “Remember, when we were teenagers,” Jason had to stifle his laugh, because Roy rolled his eyes so hard his entire head moved with them. 

Roy grinned back at him, and it was then that Jason decided that maybe hanging out with Roy Harper wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would definitely beat listening to Bruce and Oliver fake this conversation.

Without even discussing it, Roy and Jason left the room and found themselves in the back yard. Ace came trotting after them and found a tennis ball, and so they spent the next hour playing with the dog and chatting on the steps of the patio. 

“So did Oliver teach you archery or did you already know it?” Jason asked to open the conversation. He took pleasure in the dropped jaw Roy responded with, but didn’t let that show on his face. He tossed the ball as far as he could and watched as Ace ran after it.

“Bruce _said_ he didn’t tell you.”

“Please,” Jason scoffed, watching as Ace started to run back toward them, “Like Bruce would have to tell me. It’s _obvious,_ Speedy.” 

“Typical bat,” Roy muttered so quietly, Jason almost missed it, “Figures Batman’s son would be a know-it-all bastard.”

“Hey,” Jason protested, turning to scowl, “Bruce is _not_ my dad.” 

Roy seemed to startle at that, a little, as if he though Jason was reacting to the wrong word in the sentence.

Well, jokes on him. Jason _was_ a bastard. And a lot worse words he’d just promised Bruce he wouldn’t use in front of Roy.

“Well duh,” Roy said, rolling his eyes, “We’re _all_ adopted, dude. You know what I meant.” 

“But,” Jason said, then paused as Ace dropped the slobbery tennis ball back into his hands. After tossing it, he said, “I’m not adopted?” because he was honestly entirely confused how Roy could think he was. Why would anyone think Bruce adopted a kid like him, anyway?

“What? Are you sure? I thought he was-” 

“What do you mean ‘am I sure?’ Of course I’m sure. I’d know if I got adopted.”

Right? He was pretty sure. That social worker had visited recently and asked him how everything was going, so he was fairly certain he was still a foster kid. 

Ace ran back to them and, this time, gave the ball to Roy to throw. Roy did, and the ball went much further than when Jason threw it, which just reminded him he was sitting next to a literal superhero. 

What even was his life? 

“Oh. Well,” Roy said, after a second, “Anyway. So what’s your name gonna be?”

“Jason?” he said. He wasn’t quite sure he liked this kid, after all. He was kind of an idiot.

“No, I meant your code name. Like I’m Speedy, Ollie is Green Arrow, Dick is Robin. What are you gonna be? Jaybird?”

“Jaybird,” Jason echoed, scrunching his nose up because, ew. No. And also, “I’m not going to be a superhero?”

“You aren’t?”

“Why would I be?” 

Ace came trotting back up, and instead of asking for one of them to toss the ball out, he climbed up next to Jason and lay down, so Jason buried his hand in Ace’s fur and just stared at Roy, who looked as confused as Jason felt. 

“Because Bruce took you in,” Roy said, like that was an adequate answer.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” Roy exasperated, “Isn’t that _why_ he took you in? To help you be a superhero?”

“No,” Jason exclaimed, “Why would you think that?”

“He took in Dick so Dick could be Robin! Ollie took me in so I could be Speedy. Why would he take you in if you didn’t want to be a superhero?”

Jason was fairly certain that wasn’t even true. From the sounds of it, Bruce took Dick in because Dick’s parents died right in front of both of them. The whole Robin thing came later. 

But Roy was friends with Dick, wasn’t he? They were both in the Teen Titans together. So maybe he knew better. But still. He was definitely wrong about why Bruce took Jason in.

“To make sure I’m ‘fed, safe, and happy,’” he parroted, repeating exactly what Bruce had said so many times, “That’s what he keeps saying, at least.”

“That’s it?”

Shrugging, Jason looked back down at Ace and absently ran his fingers through the dogs fur as he said, “He’s shipping me off to boarding school in January, anyway. He’s just giving me a place to sleep until then.”

It took Roy so long to respond, Jason ended up looking back up at him and saw Roy blinking at him, his mouth hung open while he clearly thought hard about something.

“But Bruce said,” Roy explained, very slowly, “‘Jason is my son. I’m working on adopting him.’ Why would he say that if he didn’t want to keep you and why would he adopt you if he wasn’t helping you be a hero?”

When did he say that? Jason wanted to ask, but they got interrupted by Bruce opening the patio door and sticking his head outside.

“Boys. Oliver and I are going to WE for the afternoon and Alfred is leaving in a little while to pick Damian up from school. Are you okay by yourselves?”

“No,” Jason said, rolling his eyes and turning his back to Bruce, “We’ll never be able to entertain ourselves in this giant mansion.” 

“Okay,” Bruce said, and Jason could hear the smile on his face as he did, “Be careful. Call me or Alfred if you need anything, our numbers are on the fridge.” When neither Roy nor Jason said anything else, Bruce added, “Have fun,” and then shut the door. 

“Are you _sure_ he’s not your dad?” Roy asked.

Ignoring that, Jason hopped to his feet and grinned at Roy. “You never answered _my_ question. Did Oliver teach you archery or did you already know?”

“I already knew,” Roy scoffed, giving Jason a proud little smile of his own, “My dad taught me.” 

“If I happened to know where some archery equipment was, would you show me?”

The mischievous look Roy returned was answer enough for Jason.

And that’s how Jason found himself down in the cave, sans Batman, shooting a bow and arrow at the direction of Speedy. 

All-in-all, not a bad time. Bruce was probably definitely going to yell at him later. He’d just have to cross that bridge when they got there. But with Roy there, it wasn’t likely to be anything serious, so Jason wasn’t concerned. They _were_ being careful after all. 

If he used it as an excuse not to think about how Bruce had been behaving recently, and his admission to Oliver and Roy that he, apparently, wanted to adopt Jason, even better.

Because, really. Jason couldn’t get his hopes up like that at all. And he still wasn’t completely over breakfast, either. Now that he’d had time to think about it when his heart wasn’t racing and his head wasn’t spinning, he realized Bruce hadn’t actually done anything bad. But he’d still threatened ‘consequences,’ and Jason didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

Yep. Jason was not thinking about any of that. He was going to spend the afternoon working on his aim. That sounded fun. Because apparently he was a pretty good shot. 

And if he made a new friend out it, he wasn’t going to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "thinking???" what the heck is that? Thinking. Terrible title. 😂. I couldn't think of anything better. Friend sounded too cheesy and didn't really encapsulate the first 2k words of the chapter. So. Thinking it is. 
> 
> THANK YOU KASY. Y'all should really tell her how amazing she is, because she took some time out of her insanely busy day to read over the first half of this a couple times and really work it out with me, because it was not working there for a while. She's great. I love her. 
> 
> And I hope you guys liked this chapter. I've been dying to introduce Roy. I know Roy from Red Hood/Arsenal, which I know a lot of Roy fans hate, and I'm sorry. :(. But I also read all the works by Bandgeek18 who does awesome Roy&Oliver fics, so I hope I am doing his character justice. He'll be in the next chapter, too, and we'll get to see more of him there. And maybe another chapter, later on. I know he'll at least be mentioned. He and Jason are gonna be actual bffs, because I love their friendship in Red Hood/Arsenal and thought it would be cool to give that friendship actual 'canon' in my universe, you know? :D
> 
> Thanks for putting up with me, y'all, and reading and commenting and stuff. ❤️❤️❤️


	19. Consequences

“ _Jason Peter Todd_.”

The booming of Bruce’s voice made Jason jump so hard he loosed the arrow he had nocked. It bounced harmlessly off the stone floor and Jason stared at it for a good few seconds, trying to force himself to stay calm.

He’d been expecting Bruce to be… unhappy about him bringing Roy to the cave. So he’d spent the afternoon rehearsing what he’d say, and working up the courage to face Bruce head on. 

That’s what Dick would do, right? Be brave? Jason couldn’t imagine Robin being anything other the brave. 

Maybe if _he_ could be brave, Bruce would… Jason wasn’t sure how to finish that thought. Or if he even _wanted_ to. 

“Hi, Bruce,” Jason said, offering a strained smile as he tried to ignore the edge to Bruce’s voice. Bruce didn’t sound, like, _pissed_ angry. But he certainly was not happy. 

He was also all the way at the top of the cave stairs, so it’s not like he was cornering Jason and waving his belt around. Also, Oliver Queen was standing next to him. And like, they were superheroes, right? He could trust them. Maybe?

Oh, and Jason totally had a bow and arrow in his hands….not that he would be able to aim well enough to defend himself. Not with how shaky his arms felt.

Jason tried to still himself and remember all the arguments he’d rehearsed. He was prepared. He could do this.

“What gave you the impression you were allowed in the cave unaccompanied?” Bruce asked, his voice still stern but not booming any longer.

“We’re dead,” Roy whispered, as the two men made their way down the stairs.

Jason cut his eyes over at Roy, then looked back and Bruce and took a deep breath. “You never said I couldn’t. Besides, I wasn’t alone. Roy was here.” None of that wasn’t true. Technically. Bruce had never _explicitly_ said ‘don’t go into the cave without permission.’ 

He just said regular cave access began at 13. And Jason was 12. But Roy was 14 so, again, Jason had an escort.

“Dude,” Roy whined, and his despair at Jason getting them in trouble was _not helping._

Bruce finished his descent and stopped a good fifteen feet away from Jason and seemed to suck on his teeth for a second before saying, very calmly, “It’s dangerous down here, Jase.”

“I know. We didn’t touch _anything_ ,” Jason insisted. They really, honestly hadn’t. Even if he wanted, more than anything, to check out the cars, they had _only_ touched the archery stuff. “Just the archery equipment. We were careful.”

Bruce wasn’t very amused by that, Jason could tell. He raised an eyebrow and then said, “You’re grounded, Jason,” leveling Jason with a look that staunched any arguments Jason had in response, “No TV for the rest of the week.”

And Jason blinked. 

Then squinted at Bruce, as if that would help him understand what the heck Bruce had just said. 

Bruce was… taking away TV? Jason didn’t even _watch_ that much TV. 

“Okay?” he asked, because what even?

Is this what Bruce called a punishment? Cause it wasn’t much of one, if so. And Jason was not about to complain about that one bit. No way.

“That’s it?” Roy asked, a little too loud for Jason’s liking. 

Elbowing Roy, he hissed, “Shut up.”

“Hm,” Bruce said, gesturing toward the two of them, “I don’t want you entering this cave without permission again, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, while Roy nodded and said way more enthusiastically, “Yes sir.”

“And you both should know better than to play with the weapons without supervision.”

“ _Hey,”_ Jason protested, _“_ We were not playing. Roy’s a professional. We were being safe.” 

Bruce looked over at Oliver, who just shrugged and said, “I trust the kid. He’d never misuse a bow.”

Sighing, Bruce covered his mouth with his hand for a moment and eyed Jason. It made Jason’s skin crawl, just a little, to see. But finally, Bruce waved his hand out and said, “Fine. But use the archery equipment in the shed outside. Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll take away your access to the library for a week, got it?”

“Got it,” he said, nodding vigorously. _That_ would suck. Like, majorly. He had books in his room, though. So he wouldn’t die or anything dramatic. Even as the prospect of possibly losing the library settled, Jason could feel the tension bleed out of him. He hadn’t realized how much of it he’d been holding in until he felt his shoulders relax.

If this was what ‘consequences’ where, Jason could probably live with that. 

“All right,” Bruce said, turning on his heels and heading back up the stairs, “Alfred has dinner ready for us. It’s steak, and I don’t know about you lot, but I don’t want mine to get cold.” 

“I love Alfred’s steak,” Oliver said, grinning as he followed Bruce up the stairs. 

Roy matched Jason’s pace as they followed the adults and whispered, “Dude are you really that big a nerd?”

And Jason considered pushing him back down the stairs. If they were carpet lined and not solid rock, he probably would have done it. “Shut up.”

Laughing teasingly, Roy bounded up ahead, calling back a ,“Race ya!” as he did. 

“That’s cheating,” Jason hollered, running up after and pushing past a smiling Bruce. 

\- - - 

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. Roy and Oliver had needed to return to Star City for some big something or another as Green Arrow and Speedy, they wouldn’t explain it to Jason, and had used the zeta tubes in the cave the night before. Jason had been fascinated by the zetas. He had no idea teleportation was a _thing._ Seemed a little unfair that the Justice League was hogging the technology. The world was still relying on cars and air travel when _teleportation_ was a thing invented. 

Bruce explained it took a lot of power and they weren’t sure about the long-term effects it had on people, and that it could cause problems if more than one person was teleporting at a time. The system was set up to regulate that fine, and with just the ‘hero community’ using it, it was quite easy to keep all that controlled. 

Jason thought that was a big fat lame excuse, but let it drop. Maybe later in his lifetime he’d see teleportation be available for the general public. 

Or the rich people would continue to hog all the cool stuff for themselves. Like normal. 

But after breakfast, Bruce dragged Jason down into the cave to get some training out of the way before Oliver got back, mostly because they had ‘missed’ it the day before. 

“That’s a nice way to describe me freaking out for no reason,” Jason said, as he followed Bruce to the cave entrance. 

Bruce turned the clock hands to the right time, 10:48, and looked down at Jason as the clock slid open. “It wasn’t for no reason.”

Jason shrugged and pushed past Bruce toward the cave. He could hear Bruce sigh behind him, but ignored it until Bruce’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. 

“It was a panic attack, Jason. Not your fault. I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jason interrupted, skipping down the rest of the stairs, “I want to work on my punches.” 

“Punches today?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure? I thought you wanted to start work on hold breaks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jason said, dropping into one of the stances Bruce had taught him and punching the air a couple times, “If you think you can handle it, old man.” 

“I’m not that old,” Bruce grumbled, but he was obviously secretly grinning, so Jason returned it. 

They got to it when Bruce grasped onto Jason’s forearms and gently kicked one of his feet, repositioning it to the proper spot and saying, “Keep your feet a little wider. More power, harder to knock over.”

As soon as Bruce let go, Jason tried to punch at Bruce’s abdomen, but of course his hands were caught with a laugh. “Okay, let’s warm up and work on your form then.” 

It took about ten minutes of Bruce slowly walking Jason through the proper way to hold his fists, where to start, how to twist his entire arm as he swung, and so forth. There was actually quite a lot more to throwing a punch than he ever thought. His dad had always just kind of swung his balled fist around until he got tired, but Bruce was showing how to put as much force into the punch as possible. His entire body weight, it seemed. 

Honestly, it was the most fun Jason had had training so far.

After basic form and punching at Bruce’s palm for a while, they moved to the punching bag and that’s when the real fun started. Jason got to feel exactly how strong he was, there, all while Bruce stood behind the bag and offered corrections and encouragement. 

Bruce seemed to be having a lot of fun, too, and Jason figured that made sense. He probably used to do this with Dick all the time, and if Roy was right about them, which Jason still kind of doubted, it made sense he’d have more fun training Jason than anything else they’d done together so far. 

“You’re not usually this quiet,” Bruce said, after he’d gone silent for a couple minutes, too. Which Jason didn’t notice, until Bruce spoke again. 

“Yes I am,” he said, punctuating the last word with a particularly powerful hit on the bag. 

“Good, see it helps when you step with it,” Bruce commented, then shifted back to the conversation, “No, you aren’t. You’re usually offering your own commentary. So what’s up?”

Jason paused and considered Bruce for a second. It wouldn’t _hurt_ to just ask, would it? Bruce had been fairly open so far, hadn’t he?

“Why’d you adopt Dick?” he asked, before he could come up with reasons not to ask. Like how asking would make Bruce think he wanted to get adopted and maybe kill everything. 

_But Roy might be right._ About more than just Dick…

Bruce leaned further around the punching bag to really look at Jason as he said, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Jason said slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. He had kind of assumed Bruce would just say either ‘because I love him’ or ‘because he wanted to be Robin’ and be done with it. “I thought it was because, well, you love him n’stuff. But Roy said all you hero types adopt because you need sidekicks.”

“What?” Bruce said with so much anger in his voice it made Jason jump, but when Jason looked back at Bruce, he was already stepping back and rubbing at his face, “No, I’m not- not angry. Why would Roy _think_ that? I can’t think of a single person who has adopted just to get a ‘sidekick’ out of it.” 

“Oh.” Jason nodded, because while he’d figured as much about Bruce, he wasn’t entirely sure. Roy knew Dick. And Dick knew Bruce better than Jason, so it was possible he’d been wrong. But it was good he wasn’t. “I thought so. Well, I don’t know the other heroes, but I figured with you…”

“I never forced Dick to be Robin, okay, lad?” Bruce said, stepping back toward Jason and putting his hand in his hair. “Living in my house and being part of my family has _nothing_ to do with what happens down here, got it?”

“Yeah, got it.” 

“Good boy.” Bruce wrapped one of his arms around Jason so briefly, Jason didn’t have time to react before Bruce was grabbing the punching bag again and adding, “Okay. Twenty more. I want these to be the best punches of the morning.”

“You better hold tight,” Jason said, grinning a little as he got into the proper stance Bruce had taught him. 

“There’s my Jay.”

Jason put his all into it, and it was while he was delivering his final few blows that the zeta announced Roy’s return.

“Great,” Bruce said, “Put your weight into this last one.” When Jason did, Bruce smiled and ruffled his hair. “Okay. Let’s stretch and we’re done for the day.”

Roy wandered over to where they sat on the mats and gave Jason a smug smile as he said, “Dude, I told you.”

“Shut up, Roy,” Jason grumbled as he copied the stretches Bruce was showing him, “Bruce is not making me a superhero.”

“We’re just working on self defense,” Bruce agreed as the zeta announced Oliver’s return. 

“Sure.” Roy squatted down next to Jason and grinned, as if he wasn’t buying a word either of them said. 

“Roy,” Bruce questioned, turning his attention to the teenager, “You do know I did not take Dick in just so he could be Robin, correct?”

“Well,” Roy started, then looked at Jason with an almost betrayed expression on his face that told Jason right away that Roy _did_ think that and didn’t want to admit it to Batman. 

Bruce seemed to get that impression, too, because he shouted over to Oliver, who was putting his gear away near the zetas, “Queen. Why did you adopt Roy?”

The way Oliver startled at the question made Jason want to snicker. He looked exactly like a deer in headlights as he stuttered out, “Uh. Well, you know. We talked about it before I took him in and all.” 

“You talked to Batman about me,” Roy asked, in an almost shocked tone, but Oliver didn’t answer because Bruce took his attention.

“Yes, _I_ know, but it seems Roy and Jason are under the impression you and I have only adopted in order to gain sidekicks.”

“I’m pretty sure that would be child abuse,” Oliver said, almost horrified if Jason didn’t know better, “Roy, what on Earth? Of course I didn’t. I mean, I guess I can see why you’d think that…” 

Oliver was quiet for a good few seconds, while Roy just stared at him with wide eyes, clearly thrown completely off by the conversation. 

“I took Dick in as Bruce. He found out about the Batman thing later and forced himself on me as a partner, not my sidekick, all right?”

Roy looked back at Bruce and nodded minutely and said, “So Jason’s not going to be a vigilante?”

Bruce shrugged. “I’m not training him to be one. If he wants,” Bruce said, turning his attention to Jason, “we can certainly discuss it. But I have a rule about being 13, and I’d rather he and Damian not. It’s very dangerous.” 

Jason blinked. 

Because he wouldn’t turn 13 until next August. And that would mean he’d have to still _be_ here next August. 

And Bruce already said living with him had nothing to do with their hero work. So _was_ Roy right?

“Do you really want,” Jason started, then just stared at Bruce, “But I’m going to boarding school.”

All Bruce did was shrug and say, “It’s your choice, lad. Now come on, we need to clean up and these two probably need to eat something.” When Roy nodded, he motioned for upstairs and said, “Go. We’ll meet up in 20 minutes and figure out today’s game-plan.” 

Bruce took his shower first, making it very quick while Jason was left pondering what on earth Bruce had meant was ‘his choice.’ He only took a couple minutes, though, before he was in the locker room starting to change into a nice suit. It was strange, how they had literally _everything_ down here to dress in. Alfred just really did not like them all sweaty and gross upstairs. 

Jason took a few more minutes than Bruce had, and just got dressed into a pair of ‘lounge wear,’ as Alfred called it. Sweats, basically, and walked out into the cave proper to see Bruce sitting on a bench, lacing up his shoes. 

“You don’t want to come with us today?” Bruce asked, when he looked up and took in what Jason was wearing.

“Go with you where?” 

“Queen’s company and mine are considering a bit of a partnership. We’re likely doing a tour of the WE building today. We figured you and Roy might get a kick out of it.”

“Do I have to?” Jason asked, pulling a face, “I promise we won’t come into the cave again.” 

“No,” Bruce said, laughing as he motioned for Jason to come closer by holding out an arm, “You don’t have to. I thought you might like to, though. You really don’t get out much, especially not without Damian. We could make a day of it and get lunch out.” 

That was tempting, actually. He hadn’t left the house once without Damian. Damian was cool and all, but he could get on Jason’s nerves. “Do I have to wear a tie, though?”

Bruce wrapped his arm around Jason’s shoulders when he finally got within reach, then laughed as he pulled Jason to his side. “No, you don’t have to wear a tie.”

“Good. Cause I don’t wanna.” 

Jason could feel Bruce’s smile, because he set his head against Jason’s and said, “Hey, you know I’m proud of you, right?”

Shifting in Bruce’s weird hold, because yeah, weird, Jason furrowed his brow and stared off at the cave floor he could see around Bruce. Because that was really, really random. So was this hug. “What? Why?”

“For yesterday,” Bruce explained hugging just a little tighter for a second, “I’m not happy you broke the rules and came down here, but I’m very proud of you for taking the punishment as well as you did.” 

“But all you did was take away TV for a week?” Jason said, and immediately regretted the words. 

Because Bruce laughed and said teasingly, “Are you saying it’s not an effective punishment?”

Bruce must have felt how that made Jason freeze up. He had no idea how to respond, how to react. He _knew_ Bruce wasn’t going to hurt him. He _knew_ Bruce wouldn’t even change the punishment. Probably. He’d never seen Bruce change punishments on Damian, after all. The few times Bruce had needed to correct Damian’s behavior, that is. 

But Bruce definitely noticed, because he let go and pushed Jason back far enough so he could look into Jason’s eyes. 

“Jay,” he said, taking Jason’s hands in his and shaking them, just a little, with his words, “Punishments aren’t supposed to be fun or pleasant, but they aren’t supposed to physically hurt either. I will _never_ hurt you in the name of teaching you anything, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared into Bruce’s eyes. He really _did_ believe that. He did. Honestly. It wasn’t his fault his stupid brain sometimes freaked out anyway. 

“I mean it,” Bruce insisted, shaking Jason’s hands again, “I will never hit you, kick you, push you, starve you… Nothing like that. Consequences for disobeying will be along the lines of losing privileges for a set amount of time. No TV, no books, no going out with friends. That sort of thing, okay? Never physical punishment. You never have to fear that from me.” 

Jason nodded and said, “Okay,” mutely. Because, again. He believed Bruce. He probably would have hit him already if he were going to. _Especially_ yesterday, when he’d done something he knew Bruce was not going to be happy about anyway. 

Bruce let go of Jason’s hands and opened his arms, as if to ask permission to hug Jason again, so Jason leaned forward a little, and that was all the permission Bruce needed. 

“I care about you, all right Jay?” Bruce said, before kissing the side of Jason’s head and squeezing just a little more. It felt good. Actually, it made Jason’s entire chest warm some, and he lost his words for a minute. So all he did was nod and bring his own arms around Bruce, just slightly. Just enough to make Bruce wrap his arms around more fully and kiss him again. 

And Jason could cry. 

But he didn’t. 

He’d forever be proud of himself for _not_ crying. _Again._ He was so sick of crying. And this was a good thing. A happy good thing that did not need him crying like it was sad. 

When Bruce finally let him go and led him upstairs to help him pick out something ‘at least presentable, Jay. You’ll be meeting all my employees today,’ Jason started to wonder what Bruce meant was his choice. 

Because if going to boarding school was his choice, rather than not and staying here, Jason would gladly choose to stay here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No proofreading, we die like men." Well, okay, so like the last 2k words fall into that category, but at least I got it done before midnight. 😂
> 
> This entire chapter? Wasn't in my outline. I'm really making myself mad, straying as much as I have with this fic. Honestly, I don't know why I have an outline in the first place if I keep straying from it. Because some of the realizations, thoughts, and conversation were meant to happen in other ways, but now happened here. So. Yeah I'm not rewriting my outline again, we're just gonna wing this fam. It's what the story has been begging me to do for a while, anyway. *sighs really loudly for like 3 minutes straight*. 
> 
> Also, I read up on Roy's origin and it seems like Oliver DID take Roy in just to train him to be Speedy? (I read a couple wikis so I could be wrong.) But I don't like that. So here. In a world where Bruce is the dad-supreme and made friends with the JL way sooner, I have decided Oliver Queen would have called him to ask for advice and definitely would have taken Roy Harper in because of that whole platonic love-at-first-sight thing that's apparently a thing with parents and adopted children. And a lot of people were very concerned about Roy in the last chapter, so I decided to have that addressed on screen. Don't worry y'all, Roy is very much loved. They're just awkward with words. It's adorable. He's only been in Oliver's care for about 2 years, the approximate same amount of time as Dick in the last fic in this series! And we all know how much Bruce loved an adored Dick, even though Dick didn't seem to realize it. :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading. ❤️❤️❤️


	20. Friends

On Roy’s last night in Gotham, Bruce and Oliver got _super_ dressed up for some fancy party or something, Jason wasn’t entirely sure. Bruce had said the word ‘gala,’ but Jason didn’t know what that was. But it was, apparently, half the reason Oliver had chosen this week in particular to come to Gotham, so it must have been important.

It was just before dinner time when Bruce came downstairs though, with Selina right by his side dressed up and looking absolutely gorgeous. Jason hadn’t even known Selina was over.

Jason still didn’t _get_ them.

She kept insisting that she and Bruce weren’t together, but here they were, clearly going to this party as each others date. Or, well, Selina was probably Bruce’s. Since Selina wasn’t rich and probably hadn’t been invited on her own. She went with Bruce to fancy stuff pretty much every time Bruce had something fancy to go to. Even if she had insisted a couple days before that they ‘weren’t together, Jason, stop asking.’

He would not stop asking.

It was kind of fun to watch Bruce twitch whenever he did.

Plus, he walked in on Selina using Bruce as a pillow enough times while they were ‘not together’ for him to not believe that. At all. They were clearly, hopelessly, in love.

In all honesty, it was nice to see. His mom and dad had never been close like Selina and Bruce. Not in Jason’s memory, at least. How could Mom be? With how much of a jerk Willis was? Bruce and Selina were everything he wished his mom and dad had been, so it always made him a little happy to see.

Too bad they wouldn’t just admit it and get married already. Damian would like that, he was pretty sure.

“Hey kitten,” Selina said, when she noticed Jason staring at her, “Looking forward to an evening with no Batdad to boss you around?”

“Batdad?” Roy asked, clearly trying to suppress his grin, “oh I’m telling Dick that one.”

“Selina,” Bruce groaned, but he, too, seemed a little amused. Especially after he looked at Jason, who had turned around on the couch so he could lean against the back and laugh at Bruce to his face.

Because that was the most ridiculous nickname he’d ever heard for Bruce, and it was kind of hilarious.

“Alfred will still be here,” Bruce said as he entered the room fully and walked over to where Damian was to give him a hug, “And you boys will be good for him, right?”

“Course,” Damian said, hugging Bruce back, “Well, _I_ will be.”

“Shut up, brat,” Jason snapped half-heartedly.

“Be nice,” Bruce said absently, turning toward Jason as he finished his hug with Damian to give him one of his ‘I mean it’ looks. Jason knew they didn’t really mean anything.

“Good night, I love you. Be good.”

“Night, Dad.” Damian slipped back down onto the ground to do his turn in Clue. They had been playing the game on the coffee table, since Jason being ‘grounded’ meant they weren’t allowed to watch movies together. Whatever. Clue was honestly more fun.

“You too,” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders, where he was still kneeling on the couch backwards, “Don’t get into too much trouble with Roy.”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, squirming out of Bruce’s hug after a second, “now go away.”

Bruce laughed and ruffled his hair, then went back over to Selina and wrapped his arm around her waist. Jason made a face at them and plopped back down on the couch, ready to kick Damian’s ass at Clue.

“Night kittens,” Selina said, and with that the two of them headed on town the hall.

“That’s Catwoman, right? She really commits to the theme,” Roy commented, just as Oliver poked his head in the room.

He pointed straight at Roy and said, “We’re leaving for the airport at 10 in the morning. Stay up as late as you want but don’t complain, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

Oliver’s lip twitched, as if he _wanted_ to smile and find it amusing, but thought doing so wasn’t the right response, and said, “Good night, Roy,” as he turned to leave the room.

“Night,” Roy mumbled. He turned back toward Jason and looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “What if Batman committed as much as Catwoman does. He’d call you guys…. What are baby bats called?”

“Pups,” Damian said, without missing a beat.

“Are you serious?” Jason asked, grinning, “pups and kittens. That’s hilarious.”

“Dad _did_ get me a dog,” Damian said, smiling as he grabbed the dice to roll his turn, “And Selina got me a cat.”

“Now I get why everyone doesn’t believe they aren’t married,” Roy said.

“Right?” Jason exclaimed, finally turning his attention back to Damian, who had rolled just enough to make it into the conservatory.

“I think it’s Scarlett with the pipe in the conservatory,” Damian said, grabbing Roy’s piece, Ms. Scarlett, something they’d already teased him relentlessly for, and the pipe and setting them in the conservatory with his piece.

And Jason just internally groaned.

Because he’d already narrowed it down to either the conservatory or the ballroom, so this was likely going to be what solved the puzzle. Since stupid Damian was holding both Ms. Scarlett and the pipe in his hands and the all already knew what the other two cards were.

When they went around the table and no one had the conservatory, Damian just grinned and said, “Then it’s Mr. Green with the gun in the Conservatory."

Jason threw his cards down on the board and collapsed back dramatically against the couch while Roy groaned and whined, “I can’t believe we lost to a six-year-old three times in a row.”

"Well my dad _is_ the world’s greatest detective,” Damian said so smugly, Jason could hit him.

He didn’t, of course. Just rolled his eyes and started helping Damian sort the cards back out properly.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up," Roy grumbled as he, too, started to help.

It was then that Alfred cleared his throat, making all three of them jump and look over at the old butler, standing in the doorway looking rather pleased with himself. “Dinner is served, young sirs. If you would, finish cleaning up and wash your hands before you see yourselves to the dinning room.”

“I bet I could beat you at scrabble,” Jason said, once Alfred had left and they were putting the game back up on the shelf, “I could beat both of you at Scrabble.”

“That’s because you’re a nerd,” Roy said, then grinned just as he dodged Jason’s hand and turned to bolt, “and slow.”

“Yeah, well,” he called after Roy, refusing to chase after him like a dweeb, “at least I know _how_ to read.”

“I’ll play Scrabble with you,” Damian said, skipping to be right by his side as they both walked toward the dinning room.

“You will?”

“Yeah. We can play tomorrow instead of movie night. I bet Dad will play with us, too.”

Jason just smiled, because he’d actually really like that. Way better than doing family movie night each Saturday. He probably wouldn’t beat Bruce, but he would learn a couple new words, no doubt. And yeah, Jason could see the nerd part. But he didn’t care. It was going to be fun.

After dinner, Damian went to get ready for bed at Alfred’s orders, so Jason and Roy wandered outside and found themselves bouncing on the trampoline. Roy could do some pretty cool flips and tricks, and started showing off all the acrobatics Dick had taught him. A lot of it looked really hard, but some of the more simple tricks seemed easy enough.

That is, until Jason _tried_ them. Even with Roy’s instruction, he kept landing funny. He never made it all way around to his feet and often landed on his back or butt. Straight on his face at least twice.

“I’m not very good at teaching flips,” Roy said, cringing after Jason landed on his head again. Luckily, he was able to turn just enough that he wasn’t landing hard and hurting his neck. Just landing uncomfortably and squishing his face right into the trampoline. “Maybe if Dick showed you…”

Jason scowled and sat up, then rubbed at his face to make it stop stinging. “Like I’d want that dick teaching me. I’ll get it.”

Roy narrowed his eyes and said, “Dude, why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Jason asked, then started jumping again to work on flipping his body in a front flip. He landed on his back that time, rather than his feet, but at least it wasn’t his head.

“Call him a dick all the time.”

“It’s his _name.”_

 _“_ Yeah,” Roy said, frowning a little, “but it’s not very nice to make fun of it. Bruce just _lets_ you? He’s always shot batglares at people who do…”

Shrugging, Jason stood back up to jump some more and said, “Dick _is_ a dick, though. So I’m not sorry.”

“No he’s not, he’s actually really nice and cool. You just don’t know him well.”

“He made his six-year-old brother cry and hasn’t given him more than five minutes of his time in months,” Jason deadpanned, stilling from his jumping to glare at Roy. Dare him to challenge his reasoning. Dick Grayson was a jerk and nothing was going to change his mind from that.

“That-” Roy started, but then he paused and just frowned. “Well, Batman kicked him out. So.”

“He did not!” Jason exclaimed, because he didn’t. Bruce said he didn’t, and so far Bruce wasn’t a liar. Jason wasn’t gonna stand by and let Roy accuse him of being one.

“Yes he _did,”_ Roy insisted, scowling hard at Jason, _“_ How would you even know, you weren’t _there.”_

 _“_ Neither were _you,”_ he snapped back, _“_ And Bruce said he ran away. I can’t see Bruce kicking him out. He _loves_ him.”

Roy rolled his eyes at that, and said, “You don’t even know Dick. And didn’t you say Bruce was gonna kick _you_ out?”

“No.” Because he hadn’t. Not in those words, at least.

“He’s just gonna send me to boarding school. He said I could stay here on breaks if I want.”

“Do you want to go to boarding school?” Roy asked, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘ha I got you.’

Roy did not have him.

Because it wasn’t fair to compare himself to Dick at all. Because it’s not like _he_ was Bruce’s son. Bruce didn’t love _him._ Dick had been his son forever. For like, eight years, when Dick ran away.

There was _no way_ Bruce kicked Dick out.

“That has nothing to do with Dick being a dick,” Jason said petulantly, crossing his arms, “you’re just in denial cause you have a crush on him.”

Sadly, Roy didn’t rise to the bait. All he did was give Jason an unimpressed look as he said, “You _are_ twelve, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine,” Roy said, pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket, “Let’s just ask him, then.”

Jason perked up at that, because it had never really occurred to him to just _call_ Dick Grayson.

Not that he had a phone or anything. Or even Dick’s number. And he was fairly certain Dick ignored all of Bruce’s calls.

So yeah, it probably wouldn’t have helped, anyway.

But Roy was one of Dick’s friends, so he might actually maybe pick up.

Good. Because Dick needed to be told off, because Jason heard Damian crying about Dick again the other night and Jason was going to defend Damian. Since clearly Bruce wasn’t. No one was. If Dick was still allowed to act like this.

He didn’t care what was going on between Dick and Bruce, he shouldn’t be taking it out on the little kid. Especially not one as young and innocent as Damian.

Dick picked up after a couple rings, and Jason could hear loud and clear when Dick said, _“Hey Roy, what’s up?”_

Mostly because he had scampered to the other side of the trampoline to sit right next to Roy and listen in.

But Roy hadn’t pushed him away or even tried to angle the phone away, so he was definitely going to listen in.

“Your new brother is trash talking you,” Roy said flatly.

Before Jason could even protest, Dick said, _“What are you talking about? Do you mean Jason? We aren’t brothers.”_

Jason had been about to say it himself, but now that he heard Dick say it he just had to respond with, “Fuck you, too, Dickhead.”

Roy elbowed Jason and hissed, “Jason,” at him.

 _“What are you doing with Jason?”_ Dick asked, and Jason just rolled his eyes. Both at Dick and Roy.

“Ollie brought me to your house instead of letting me spend the week at the tower because ‘I have to be seen in public _sometimes’_ and ‘whats wrong with spending some time with me, don't you like me?’ so here I am. Not spending time with Ollie, because he ditched me here every single day.”

“The one day they took us with them you complained half the time,” Jason pointed out, thinking back to all the whining Roy had done while they toured Wayne Enterprises. It’d been amusing at the time, and he’d agreed with everything, but still. The point was, Roy had more fun hanging around Wayne Manor than he did following Oliver around.

“ _Uhh,”_ Dick said, and Jason just smirked.

“Yeah, well. Jason’s pretty cool. Even if he is trash talking you.”

Jason couldn’t help it. He did smile fully at that. Roy was pretty cool, too. He was glad he’d been wrong in his snap judgement of whom he’d assumed to be a rich snob.

It was weird, how right Bruce could be sometimes. All he had to do was give Roy a chance, and he surprised him.

But clearly that philosophy didn't always work out. Considering the case of Dick Grayson.

“ _What’s he saying?”_

“Just that you’re an ass who makes Damian cry all the time,” Jason said, before Roy could even open his mouth, “he thinks you hate him now.”

“Jason, let me-” Roy tried, but got cut off by Dick.

“ _What? Of course I don’t hate him._ ”

“Well then maybe _call_ him you fucking idiot. He’s six. Stop being a dick and taking your anger towards Bruce out on him. Besides, why the fuck are you even mad at Bruce? He’s great.”

A little voice in the back of his head reminded him of his promise not to cuss in front of Roy. But then he remembered that breaking the rules just meant getting grounded. And it would be worth it to tell off Dick Grayson.

Besides, Bruce wasn’t there.

“ _You know what,”_ Dick said, clearly getting beyond pissed, “ _I don’t have to talk to you.”_

“You’re right,” Jason said, letting his grin bleed into his voice, “S’not like I want to talk to _you_. Because you're a dick.”

“Wait, hang on-” Roy tried, but Jason had pushed too far.

Because he said, “ _Fuck you, Jason.”_

“Right back at you, dickface.”

After that, Dick hung up, and Jason could hear the click of the line even as he saw the way Roy’s face fell.

“Cool,” Roy said, frowning as he tossed his phone onto the trampoline in front of them, “Thanks for that. He’ll probably never answer my calls again.”

“Not sure why you’re friends with a dick anyway.”

“You really need to quit,” Roy said, annoyance showing clearly on his face as he faced Jason directly, “It’s his name. His parents gave it to him. And I’m friends with him because he’s awesome. You’ll never meet someone more loyal than Dick Grayson. He’s the best kind of person to have on a team.”

Okay.

That….kind of made Jason feel a little shitty.

But it’s not like Dick didn’t _deserve_ to have shit thrown at him. “He abandoned his own brother.”

“I don’t know why he did that,” Roy admitted, frowning deeper, “he really likes Damian.”

“Because he’s a jerk.”

Roy sat there for a good minute, just picking at the hem on his socks as he stared off into the distance. Jason really wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to defend Dick any further. As far as he was concerned, Dick’s behavior couldn’t be excused.

Because even _if_ Bruce _had_ kicked him out, which he hadn’t, that still didn’t make it okay to take it out on Damian. It was obvious Dick was not forbidden from talking to Damian. Bruce hadn’t acted at all like that was the case when he showed up a while back. And Jason knew for a _fact_ that Bruce called Dick all the time and left voicemails. If Dick had been kicked out, why would Bruce do that?

He wouldn’t.

“There’s probably something we don’t know, okay?” Roy eventually said, his voice a tad raspier than Jason had been expecting. It caught him off guard, just a bit. “He’s a great guy. You should give him a chance.”

If only that were even possible.

“That would be easier to do if he fucking came around,” Jason mumbled, flinging himself backward onto the trampoline, so he was laying flat. He bounced a couple times, then settled and stared up at the sky above them. At the first stars of the night starting to shine through the dusk.

Dick coming around would mean none of this would be a problem, though. Because he’d be spending time with Damian and even Bruce wouldn’t be so sad sometimes, whenever he saw a picture of Dick and just stopped to look at it for a minute. Jason was pretty sure Dick didn’t even have to _live_ in the manor in order to fix a lot of the problems. Just show his face sometimes.

But he wouldn’t do that, because he was too busy throwing a fit.

So perhaps it was all pointless.

“Maybe you should come to the tower sometime,” Roy said, a minute later. Still sitting up next to Jason. “I usually spend Saturday there. Do you think Bruce would let you visit? We’ve got a zeta.”

“Dunno,” Jason said, “He doesn’t let me out of the house much.”

“Have you tried to get out of the house?”

Jason just shrugged. He hadn’t, actually. “Not really anywhere to go. Can’t go back to any of my old haunts wearing rich people clothes. Just begging to get mugged if I do.”

Roy nodded like he understood, then offered, “Well, I’ll give you my cell number and you can text me if Bruce says yes. Then you can meet Dick and you’ll see.”

“Mhm,” Jason hummed, noncommittally. Considering he wasn’t allowed in the cave until he was 13, he was having a hard time believing Bruce would just let him go some place called Titans Tower by himself. With only other kids for supervision.

“Plus I can show you our trampoline. It’s way better than this one.”

“Hey, don’t dis my trampoline. This is the best place to read outside.”

Roy wrinkled his nose at Jason, then stood up. Before Jason could react, Roy started jumping, hard, right next to him, making him flail about.

When Jason flipped onto his stomach, he let out an indignant squawk and reached out to grab onto Roy’s legs, bringing him toppling to the surface of the trampoline. “I’ll kill you,” he shouted, between laughs as he and Roy started tumbling around. He was a lot smaller than Roy, but he could still hold his own.

Kind of.

Not really.

It was obvious Roy was going easy on him, but one day he’ll be strong enough that Roy won’t have to. Jason was pretty confident.

He’d already grown an inch since moving in with Bruce, and if he kept it up, hopefully some day he’d be closer to an average size for his age. And if Bruce kept teaching him, he could learn enough martial arts to hold his own against someone like Roy. Someone like Dick.

 _And,_ if Bruce let him hang out at the tower, surely he could learn more things there.

He still didn’t think Dick had any sort of excuse for his behavior, but he’d be willing to spend time around him. If he did that, maybe he could make Dick see reason.

Yeah. If he made Dick see reason, maybe he’d come home and stop making everyone miss him so much. That’d be cool.

Just as long as he was allowed to stay, too.

That… that would be really awesome, actually. Having an older brother. Or, well, foster brother. Jason thought he’d probably really like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I'm done. I am _exhausted_ y'all, so I feel like it hasn't gotten a good thorough read-through. So I apologize if it sucks. D: I wanted to go to sleep like 2 hours ago but I pushed myself to finish, and then wrote 500 more words than I meant! So yay!! Hopefully. I'll proof it better tomorrow. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3 <3 And putting up with me being a little late.


	21. Cost

It took nearly a week for Jason to gather his courage. 

Not that he was scared.

Because he definitely wasn’t. No way. Not of Bruce. 

But it was still a little… hard. To walk up to Bruce and _ask him_ for something. 

Bruce had already done so much for him, it felt a little awkward to demand more. Even if it was just if he could go to Titans Tower to see Roy. 

In New York City. 

By himself. 

There was no way Bruce was going to allow this. 

Jason finally talked himself up to asking Friday afternoon, and went to find Bruce in his study. The way he found Bruce, though, made him hesitate in the doorway. Bruce liked to keep the door open to encourage them to ‘interrupt’ him, but usually Jason found him working on his computer. 

That’s not what he was doing this time, though.

No. He was sitting at his desk, leaned back as far as he could in the chair, his eyes closed like he was napping. Jason might have assumed he was, had Figaro not been curled up on his chest as he gently stroked her fur. 

He looked relaxed and at peace, in a way he rarely looked. Jason loathed to interrupt _that._

But he knew if he didn’t ask now, he wouldn’t gather enough courage back up in time to go the next day. He’d have to wait a-whole-nother week, and what if Roy forgot about his offer? And get annoyed some annoying little 12-year-old just showed up so long after an invitation and…

Okay. 

No. He needed to cut that out. Just ask Bruce.

“Uh, Bruce?” he asked, hesitantly stepping into the office just a foot or so, ready to retreat in case Bruce _was_ asleep and act like he’d never been there in the first place. 

“Hmm?” Bruce hummed, opening one of his eyes while he continued to pet Figaro. He didn’t jump or anything, so Jason supposed he wasn’t asleep after all. Or had trained himself out of jumping when startled. Regardless.

“Hi,” he said, shifting from foot to foot as his hands found their way to the hem of his hoody. His nice, warm, oversized hoody Bruce had convinced him to pick out a few weeks back while they were at the mall. It was meant to replace the one he’d come to the manor with, but Jason kept both of them. He had to admit the new one was more comfortable, though. After it’d been washed a couple times. It was soft and always smelled like laundry detergent, too. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and sat up fully, when he failed to just _ask_ for what he wanted. Because Jason was a fucking coward, after all. 

Figaro meowed as Bruce tried to settle her into his lap, then hopped down and ran off, right out of the room, brushing right past Jason’s leg as she did so. Bruce looked a little crestfallen over that, but hid it pretty quickly. That didn’t stop Jason from feeling bad he’d stolen Bruce’s peace like that. 

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked, smiling a little at Jason. 

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, then paused to take a deep breath and ask a little less shakily, “I was just wondering, um, Roy invited me to hang out with him at the tower and tomorrow is Saturday and everything and, um, well…” 

Bruce had started frowning in the middle of Jason’s ramble, which didn’t help anything at all. When he trailed off and started chewing on the inside of his cheek, Bruce frowned harder. 

“Are you asking if you can go to the tower?”

Jason only nodded, so Bruce sat forward and leaned against his desk as he said, “Okay, well. I really don’t want… you kids getting into the hero business before you’re 13, so I’m a little hesitant here, Jay.” 

“I’m not- We aren’t gonna, like, I don’t know. Be superheroes or whatever,” Jason said, trying his best not to completely deflate at Bruce’s apparent ‘no,’ “Just hang out ’n stuff. He said something about a cool trampoline.” 

“Hmm. I won’t say ‘no’ to ‘just hanging out,’” Bruce said slowly, but he was still frowning like he was going to say no anyway, and it just made Jason more antsy. Why’d he even ask? “But I don’t want you there unsupervised.”

“So you’ll want to come with me?” That was totally fine. Jason wouldn’t be against that. 

“I’m not sure I’m welcome at Titans Tower. If you get Dick’s permission to visit and his agreement to supervise you while you’re there, then I’ll let you go, all right?”

And dreams crushed.

How the fuck was he supposed to get _Dick Fucking Grayson’s_ permission? The asshole wouldn’t even talk to him. 

Also, he didn’t have his number. 

Or a phone.

“Otherwise,” Bruce continued, “you can always invite Roy over _here._ Just tell me he’s coming and I’ll set up the zeta to allow him access. Dick’s friends used to visit via the zetas all the time.” 

“Oh,” Jason said, nodding a little. It kind of defeated half the purpose of going to Titans Tower: to meet Dick, but it would still be fun. Because it would be spending time with a kid that wasn’t half his age. “Okay. Thanks.”

“If he invites you to his house, I’ll allow that, too. Assuming there is supervision there, as well. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jason agreed, before spinning on the balls of his feet to retreat. He had to go steal Damian’s phone to text Roy an update. 

“Jay?” Bruce called, after he’d made it only a step outside the office. When he stuck his head back in, Bruce said, “I’m glad you made a friend.” 

Jason couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. Or the heat that he felt. He ducked out before Bruce could see either, and hurried on down the hall to the stairs, so he could go find Damian and borrow that phone. 

But he couldn’t help but turn those words over in his head. Because, yeah. He’d made a friend. That’s what he and Roy were, wasn’t it? Assuming Roy didn’t take back his invitation of hanging out, that was. And realize that his superhero friends were way cooler than Street Rat Jason Todd, the charity case Batman was looking after for a while….

No. It was fine. Roy was his friend. He nodded to himself, as if to cement that thought in there. His brain was just being mean to him. 

It was fine. A tiny smile formed on his lips again as he realized. He’d never had a friend before.

\- - - 

Jason did not get Dick’s permission.

They hadn’t even asked him, but that was _still_ not getting his permission. He’d explained it pretty shortly to Roy, and Roy had been nervous about having to ask Dick himself. 

So it never happened. 

But Jason was fine with that. Because Roy invited Jason over to hang out after school sometime, and Roy was planning on visiting Wayne Manor in a week, too. So it was fine. 

Plus, they kept texting each other throughout the next week, which was pretty neat. Jason was enjoying that. 

Damian, however, was _not_ enjoying that. Which made no sense to Jason, because all Damian ever used his phone for was taking dumb pictures of really dumb things or playing whatever his current game obsession was. Or watching _really_ weird youtube videos, like the ones where grown-ass adults played with action figures, making voices and everything. 

Most the time, Damian wasn’t even playing with his phone. He just had it in a pocket. Or sitting on the table. Or under the couch, or where ever the hell it’d fallen while he played whatever stupid game he was playing. So Jason really didn’t understand how indignant Damian was getting whenever a text came in from Roy or when Jason asked to borrow the phone. 

It took about a week, though, for Damian to fully lose it. Jason had skipped into the room where Damian was playing astronaut or something. Jason had no idea. The brat liked to dress up but also mix together costumes, so half the time Jason had no idea what he was even doing. It didn’t matter, though. All he wanted was to borrow Damian’s phone for a second.

The second he opened his mouth to say, “Damian, can I see your-” Damian basically growled at him. 

“No, you can’t.” 

“Just for a second,” Jason protested, narrowing his eyes at the stupid little brat. He wouldn’t even walk off with the phone, and Damian _wasn’t using it._ What was the harm? He needed to tell Roy about the level he’d just beaten in the zombie game Roy downloaded to the tablet in his room when he was over last. It was awesome. Roy would be jealous. 

“Get your own,” Damian said, grabbing his phone off the table before Jason could snatch it and tucking it into his costume’s pocket.

“Oh, come on,” Jason whined, “Where am I supposed to get my own? Just let me see it for 10 seconds.”

“Buy one.” 

“In case you forgot, I don’t have any money!” Jason exclaimed, storming over to Damian to try and just take the phone. Just for a second. 

“No,” Damian screamed, jumping up on the couch, as if doing that would make him too tall and unreachable, “Make Dad get you one then, he has plenty of money. This one is mine!” 

There was no way in hell Jason was going to ask Bruce for a phone. Honestly. He didn’t need one, for starters, and phones were fucking expensive. There was no way he was asking for that kind of money. Not knowing Bruce had already spent _so much_ on him buying him all his books and clothes and school supplies. And, not to mention, the future _school tuition_ he was going to pay. Jason had looked up all those fancy schools before choosing one in New York to attend. 

Tuition was _$55,000._

_A year._

And he had five years more of school beyond his current one, if he couldn’t figure out how to skip ahead and graduate early. That was _a lot_ of money. 

More than his parents ever saw in their entire lives, probably. 

He was not about to ask for a single penny more for anything. 

“Why are you such a brat? I’m not gonna take it forever, just for a minute!”

“Dad,” Damian screamed, scowling at Jason as he took a step toward him up on the couch. 

“No,” Jason said, jumping up on the couch to try and cover Damian’s mouth. 

They ended up tussling around, while Damian kept shouting for Bruce between whining at Jason to “stop it” and “get off.” 

“Stop,” Jason said, finally succeeded in getting his hand clamped over Damian’s mouth. It was probably too late, but maybe not. The house was huge, and there was a chance Bruce hadn’t been near enough to hear Damian shout for him. “I’m not asking him for a phone. Just let me borrow yours you spoiled brat.” 

“Ow,” Jason exclaimed when Damian bit him and pushed him off, making Jason fall off the couch where he’d had Damian pinned, “What the fuck, Damian! That was-”

“Jason,” Bruce said, way more exasperated than angry. It still made Jason jump a little, but Bruce just said, “Watch your language. What is going on here?”

Damian jumped up and started shouting, “Jason keeps taking my phone and being mean about it, get him his own phone,” but it was a little hard to follow, because Jason talked right over him.

“Damian _bit_ me. And pushed me off the couch. And is being a _brat_ and not letting me borrow his phone for _five seconds_ so I can text Roy.” 

“Okay,” Bruce boomed, effectively silencing both of them. He turned to Damian first and asked, “You _bit_ him? How old are you? Are you a dog, now? You know that is not how you behave.”

“He had his hand over my mouth!” Damian screeched indignantly, “He was trying to make me stop calling for you.”

“That doesn’t excuse _biting_ him. Jay,” Bruce held out a hand to beacon Jason closer, “Let me see. Did he break the skin?”

“No,” Jason admitted, stepping closer to Bruce and offering his hand. Really, Damian had barely even left a mark. Jason felt a little ridiculous for complaining about it, now. 

Bruce inspected the red spot on Jason’s hand then pat it gently and let go. “I think you’ll live. Now what is this all about?”

“Jason keeps taking my phone,” Damian asserted, scowling harder now at both Bruce and Jason, “Get him his own.”

“You’ve been using his phone to talk to Roy?” Bruce asked, giving Jason an odd look. Like he hadn’t even thought about _how_ Jason had been communicating with Roy. 

“Yeah,” he responded, rolling his eyes a little. Honestly. Rich people never thought about any of this, did they? Just took having fancy expensive shit for granted. 

“Why don’t you use your tablet? I set that up just for you, so any texts you send or receive off it will be private.”

First off, he hadn’t realized it was ‘his’ tablet. He thought it was just something that belonged in his room, like the movie projector or the bed. But since when could tablets _text?_ Didn't you need, like, a cell phone number for that? 

“I can text from the tablet?”

“As long as Roy has an iphone,” Bruce said, nodding a little, “I’m pretty sure he does. You could also email him, if you wanted.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He’d have to get Roy’s email, then. Or try the texting thing. It’d be neat to not have Damian able to snoop in on their conversation, too. 

Bruce paused for a second, then seemed to decide on something, because he nodded once and looked at Jason with a determined look. “But Damian’s right. You need your own phone.”

“No, Bruce, really,” Jason said, adamantly. Because really. He didn’t need a phone. The tablet was enough. “I’m fine. I’ll just email Roy, it’s fine.”

“Nope. You need a phone. Especially if you’re going to start leaving the Manor much. I need to be able to contact you.”

The thought of buying a phone made Jason a little queasy, but Bruce’s reasoning made sense, he supposed. Although couldn’t Bruce just call whoever Jason was with? Or lend him, like, a communicator or something? There was no need to get something _new._

“Why don’t you go get ready,” Bruce said, stepping aside as if to encourage Jason to leave the room, “and you and I will go get one now.”

“Really, Bruce. It’s fine.”

“Shoes,” Bruce insisted, pointing out the door in the vague direction of his room, “I’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes.” 

Jason hesitated for a second, but decided it wasn’t quite worth it to argue. He could probably convince Bruce to get him a really cheap one or not to get him one at all. A lot of times he was able to talk Bruce down off whatever random expensive thing he wanted to buy. Like the time he saw a coat he liked for Jason, but the coat cost _$700._ Jason had convinced Bruce to get him a $30 on clearance from another store, instead. He still got a coat, which made Bruce happy, but they hadn’t wasted a ridiculous amount of money on it. 

“Can I come, Dad?” Damian asked, just as Jason started to making his way out of the room. 

“No,”Bruce said sternly, and Jason couldn’t help but smile a little. For some reason, it’d become funny to see Damian get in trouble. “You’re grounded for biting Jason.”

“Oh come on!” 

Jason skipped a little, at that, down the hall and to the stairs. He just barely heard as Bruce said, “Go see if Alfred has any chores for you.”

Without Damian, the shopping trip could probably be fun. 

\- - -

“Bruce, I really don’t need a phone,” Jason tried, once they were in the car and headed toward wherever it was people bought phones. The phone store? He’d never had a cell phone, and he was pretty certain his _parents_ had never had one, either. He knew for a fact his mother hadn’t. Maybe Dad did, but Jason wouldn’t really know. He did everything in his power to avoid his father, when he wasn’t in jail. 

“Jay, son,” Bruce sighed, tightening and loosening his hands on the wheel. Just like Jason had seen him do many times, whenever he or Damian was doing something to aggravate him. It used to make him nervous, in the beginning. Now Jason knew that where his dad would have jumped to punching his problems, Bruce just clenched his jaw or took deep breaths. 

“We aren’t debating this. I’m getting you a phone. I should have bought you one months ago.” 

“Fine,” he huffed, sinking down into his seat and crossing his arms. Bruce lifted an eyebrow at him in the rear view mirror, but otherwise didn’t comment. 

Which was good. 

In fact, they remained silent for the rest of the drive. 

It wasn’t until they were standing in the phone store did Bruce say anything more. And then it was, “Which color do you want?” while pointing to a display of phones that didn’t even have the price tags visible. 

Jason shrugged, then shoved his hands into his hoody pockets and sank down into the hood a little more. It didn’t matter. He wanted to get this over with so they could leave. He’d finally found the price tag, which was _tiny little letters_ on an itty bitty piece of paper next to the phones, and he wanted to leave, like, yesterday. 

Because each phone cost more than his mom’s rent. That they’d always had trouble making, after Dad went to prison. Even when Dad wasn’t in prison. It made him a little sick to think about how Bruce was about to drop over a thousand dollars on a little gadget for him when thousands of people were in the same spot he’d been in not six months ago. Four years ago. His entire life. 

He didn’t need a phone. 

That money could be better used buying another month of shelter for a family. Jason knew what it was like to not have shelter. That was _way_ more important than a stupid little rectangle he _didn’t need._

“Red’s your favorite color, right?” Bruce asked, picking up the bright red one and showing it to Jason, “What about the red one?”

All he did was shrug again, and Bruce sighed. 

Leaning against the display so he could be more at eye level, he looked straight at Jason and said, “Okay, what’s going on? You’ve shut down on me. It’s just picking a color, Jay. You won’t even see most of it, it’ll be in a case, so if you don’t like any of these that’s fine. We’ll get a case that’s a color you like.” 

Oh, great. They were going to spend _more_ money on the phone. 

“I don’t need a phone,” he insisted, and something about his voice must have startled Bruce, because he set the phone back and knelt right in front of Jason, so they were at just about eye level. Bruce slightly lower than Jason. 

“You do, actually,” Bruce said, searching Jason’s face for he didn’t even know what, “If you want to go to New York or Star City, you’ll need a phone. And you’ll especially need one once you go to school. I was going to buy you one eventually, so it might as well be now.” 

Right. School. Leaving. That… was an entirely different issue and Jason was not thinking about it right now.

“But…” Jason started, but looked off. He wasn’t sure how to convince Bruce of this, “Does it have to be one of these?”

“You don’t like this one? It’s the latest model,” Bruce said, picking one back up and trying to hand it to Jason, “It has plenty of space on it, too, if you want to keep movies or music or even books on it.”

“But it costs so much,” Jason whispered, refusing to pulls his hands out to touch the phone. 

“I think I can afford it,” Bruce whispered back, smiling as if he thought Jason were being cute. 

“Aren’t there cheaper phones, though? There’s no reason to waste so much money on me…” 

“Whoa, hey,” Bruce said, setting the phone back down to place his hands on Jason’s upper arms, “It’s not wasting money. You need a phone. These are good phones. It’ll last you _years,_ Jay. If you keep the phone for three years, then it’s really only costing a dollar a day. And besides, even if it cost a thousand a day, it’ll still be worth it, okay?” 

Jason started shaking his head adamantly, so Bruce nodded just as vigorously and said, “Yes, Jay. You deserve nice things. Let me buy you nice things.” 

“No, that’s not-” Jason said, then paused so he could step back out of Bruce’s reach. “Mom’s rent was $775 a month. And electricity cost about $47, on average, but depended on how much we ran the fan or heater. And-”

“Jay,” Bruce tried to interrupt, but Jason didn’t let him. 

“And we could make $50 stretch enough to feed us for the whole month, but if we wanted to eat more than ramen and peanut butter sandwiches we really needed at least $100. And-”

“Jason,” Bruce said, a tad more forcefully, and that was when Jason realized he was on the verge of crying. 

“This phone costs more than all of that together,” Jason finished, so he could squeeze his teeth together and make his jaw quit doing the stupid little trembling thing it had started. 

Understanding seemed to bloom in Bruce’s eyes, and he nodded and sat up on one of the stools next to him. When he reached an arm out, asking for Jason to come closer, Jason kind of hated how quickly he acquiesced and let Bruce pull him into a hug. And how much it comforted him. He almost started outright sobbing, but only didn’t because they were in public. Had they been at home, he knew he’d be a sniveling mess right now. 

“I’m sorry, Jay,” Bruce said, squeezing a little as he rested his head in Jason’s hair, “I can’t even fathom what it was like for you growing up, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. Me buying you this phone won’t take money away from someone else, though, all right? Do you understand that?”

Jason shrugged, not trusting his voice at all. 

“This money is just sitting in my bank account doing nothing. If I don’t spend it on a phone, it’ll just sit there. But if I _do_ buy you a phone, then it will go to this store, which will use it to pay for the cost of making the phone and pay the employees.”

“They probably make, like, 4 dollars an hour, Bruce.” 

“If they do that is highly illegal and I’ll gladly help them sue their employer,” Bruce said, and Jason could hear the slight smile in his voice. But he sobered quickly and added, “But tell you what. I already donate a lot to charity, and if you want to see exactly where and how, I’ll gladly walk you through that at home. But you can help me set up another charity, okay? One aimed at helping moms in Gotham, just like your mom, support themselves and their kids when their husbands go to jail.” 

Jason pulled away from Bruce’s hold and asked, “Really?”

“Yep. And for every dollar I spend, I’ll put two in the fund for that charity. Does that sound like a deal?”

He stared at Bruce long and hard, trying to figure out what the catch was for this. He couldn’t find any deception in his voice, but why would a rich guy want to give so much of his money away? If he bought Jason this phone, that meant he’d give over $2000 to people in Crime Alley. And did this count for stuff like school tuition? That was _a lot_ of money if so. Why would Bruce agree to that?

“I’ll set up a meeting with my lawyers next week and you can come with me, all right lad? I’ll keep you involved every step of the way. You can even name it, if you want.”

“But why?” Jason finally asked. This seemed like a very expensive way to convince Jason to get a phone. Because, so far, Bruce hadn’t lied about anything. So Jason didn’t want to believe he’d start now. 

“No kid should suffer the way you did,” Bruce said, patting Jason on the head and smiling as he stood, “So the red one?”

Jason took a minute to wonder if such a charity would even _help._ Would his mother have accepted help from random strangers? Her problem… her problem was drugs. She wasted _a lot_ of their money on drugs there in the end. But he knew there were tons of other people in Crime Alley who were not addicted to drugs and were still struggling. Would this really help them? It was probably worth it to try, right? 

Besides, Bruce was right. His money was currently doing _nothing._ It would be cool to be able to give back to his old community. Even if it weren’t _his_ money, but his foster dad’s. 

“I-” Jason started, then cleared his throat to say a little louder, “Actually, I like the black one better.” 

Bruce’s face absolutely lit up at that. He smiled widely and said, “Me too. It’s very sleek looking.” 

After Bruce picked out a bunch of things he ‘needed,’ like headphones and a phone case, and they checked out, Jason trailed along beside Bruce, playing with all the buttons on his new phone. They hadn’t set it up for him specifically yet, Bruce said he needed to add some ‘security’ to it at home and such before Jason could _really_ use it, but so far it’d been pretty cool. 

“Don’t forget,” he said, taking the bag from Bruce’s hands so he could carry it himself, “you promised double what you spent.”

“I remember. How about we round it to a pretty $3000, does that sound fair?”

Jason nodded once, and asked, “Can we name it after my mom?”

“The Catherine Todd Foundation?” 

“No,” he said, after considering it for a second, “Let’s leave my dad out of it. Just ‘The Catherine Foundation.’” 

Bruce grabbed Jason’s hand and squeezed it a little, offering a gentle smile as he said, “Sounds perfect. We’ll get the lawyers on it this week.” 

“Cool.” As they kept walking toward the car, Jason thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Going to school, that was. Jason still didn’t want to leave, but if it meant Bruce donated that much more money to people who really needed the help, then it was probably worth it… Besides, it was still going to be an _excellent_ education. Even if he _could_ learn everything at home, being homeschooled. It was fine. It’d create a lot of good. 

That made it worth it, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Kasy, as always. You're the best. ❤️❤️❤️❤️
> 
> I hope being a little early this week makes up for being late last week. ❤️ Yet again, what had to happen didn't this chapter, but that's okay! I had only had four more chapters planned after this one, but now it's five! Y'all just getting more content. :) 
> 
> Also, I've been outlining like crazy the past couple weeks the future arcs for this series, and y'all I'm getting so excited about them. This week has been all about a Selina/Bruce fic that will span across the entire timeline up until 5 years from the conclusion of this fic? Cause Jason will be 17 or 18, I think? Anyway, it's making me so 🥰🥰🥰🥰 For Bruce/Selina. Originally it was supposed to be, like, a one shot showing what Selina was doing during something but then it turned into this full scale let's build up their relationship and I AM SO EXCITED. Holy crap. I wish I could just spend all my time writing so I could do all my WIPs RIGHT NOW. lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and anything else. <3 you guys.


	22. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment y'all been waiting for.

Bruce took his phone pretty much as soon as they got home in order to add security features. Jason honestly had no idea what that meant, and got bored when Bruce tried to walk him through it. He’d eventually asked if he could go read or something, after he’d sat there and listened to Bruce explain every little thing he was doing to the phone for twenty minutes.

Coding was boring.

Jason was perfectly content with letting Bruce handle all that. He didn’t care. Bruce had just laughed when Jason whined about being bored, and let him do whatever he wanted.

It wasn’t until the next morning did Bruce return the phone, though. Jason had gone to bed before Bruce finished, so it was after breakfast that Bruce handed it back. ‘Fully set up and ready to go,’ as Bruce explained.

The first thing he did was text Roy, of course. But then he remembered the time difference between Star City and Gotham and realized there was no way in hell Roy was even awake yet.

Plus he had school.

So it was very unlikely Roy would answer him any time soon.

Jason took his phone back to his room. Bruce had to take Damian to school and Alfred had the day off, so he was on his own for an hour or so, depending on how long Bruce took. Well, Alfred was still technically in the house. But Jason wasn’t supposed to bother him unless it was an emergency.

He spent some time installing games on his phone. Mostly right off the front page of the app store, but he also searched for some of the games he’d played with Damian over the past few months.

After that, he started looking at every app that was already installed. He deleted the dumb ones, and got a little annoyed by the blatant tracking app. But he figured uninstalling it would piss Bruce off, so he left it alone. But then he opened the contacts app and was a little surprised to see so many names added already.

It was no surprise that Bruce added himself and Alfred. That made sense, since Bruce’s main reason for getting him this phone was so he could contact them and vice versa.

What did surprise him was the fifteen other names, several of which he didn’t even recognize. Like Lucius Fox or Lois Lane. He knew Clark Kent was that reporter dude who came over sometimes. He and Bruce were friends or something. And obviously Selina Kyle was Bruce’s wife, even if they pretended otherwise. It would actually be funny to put that down as a note in her contact.

There was Oliver and Roy, of course, and even someone named Barry Allen. And Damian, obviously. Plus some non-emergency numbers for the police and fire departments.

The one that surprised him the most, however, was _Dick Grayson._

Bruce gave him Dick’s number.

Dick, whom Jason hadn’t said more than four sentences to ever.

Why would Bruce do that?

Then again, why _wouldn’t_ Bruce do that? He seemed to think Jason could just _ask_ Dick things. Like whether he could go visit the tower. As if Dick actually cared about Jason and didn’t hate his guts.

Granted, Jason was kind of an asshole to Dick, right from the start.

Okay, definitely a total asshole.

But Dick deserved it.

Jason looked back at the contact and smirked. Well, now that he had Dick’s number, maybe he should call and ask. What was the worst that could happen? Dick hang up on him? Not answer? Whatever.

It’s not like Dick was _his_ brother. His feelings wouldn’t be hurt if Dick gave him the cold shoulder like he was doing with Damian. And Bruce, actually.

Maybe he could ask him about that, actually. Roy never got to ask before, since Jason had to go off on him and everything. He could hold his tongue long enough to ask this time, right?

Probably not, but he could try.

His hands started to shake a little when he went to press call. Which was weird. But then he was starkly aware that his door was still unlocked. And what if Bruce walked in on him talking to Dick? What would he do? Get mad? For bothering Dick unnecessarily?

No, right? Because he _said_ ask Dick.

But that had also been over a week ago. Maybe he’d just assumed Dick said no.

Just in case, Jason hopped up and locked his door. That way Bruce couldn’t just barge in.

Although, when had Bruce _ever_ barged in?

Never.

Regardless. He walked back over to his bed and took a slow, deep breath, then closed his eyes and hit ‘call.’

Jason could hear his heart beat in his ears as the phone rang. Dick probably wouldn’t even answer. He never answered Bruce’s calls.

Then again, Jason was calling from a new number. One Dick probably didn’t have.

Unless…. Bruce texted it to him.

That was entirely possible.

But after four rings, the line clicked, and Dick Grayson said in far more chipper a tone than Jason was expecting, “ _Hello?_ ”

And it kind of helped him shake the nerves. “Hey, _Dick,_ ” he said, even though he already hated that he’d just made fun of Dick’s name. It wasn’t the dude’s fault his parents picked a terrible name, Jason supposed. And it was hard to fault the guy for going with what his parents called him, since his parents were dead and all.

From what he understood, Dick’s biological parents were pretty great, otherwise. Even if they _did_ name their kid ‘Dick.’

Was that why he ran away from Bruce? Was Bruce actually a pretty shitty dad to anyone not Damian? Or shitty in general, and had just been behaving for Jason’s sake? To earn his trust?

Jason doubted that. Less and less of him believed Bruce could be bad every day, to the point now that only a tiny little voice in his head was left whispering doubts about Bruce.

Because Bruce was pretty great. And for as much trouble as Jason’s given Bruce, he had a hard time believing that Bruce was just acting. No one could put up with Jason that long and not snap, after all. Jason was kind of a brat…

Dick took a solid few seconds before he sighed heavily and asked, “ _Is this Jason?_ ”

“The one and only.”

“ _What do you want, Jason?_ ” Dick asked, sounding absolutely exasperated.

It made Jason grin. Because he hadn’t hung up, and was instead going to let Jason talk.

“For you to stop being a jerk to Damian.”

“ _I am_ trying, _okay?_ ” Dick said, and Jason regretted starting with this topic. He was an idiot. An absolute idiot.

Oh well.

He didn’t care. Dick was a jerk.

“ _I’ve called him several times and he sends me to voicemail every time.”_

“Huh,” Jason said, grinning again, “Hurts when your family ignores your calls, doesn’t it?”

“ _Fuck you, Jason,”_ Dick snapped _, “Lose my number, kay?”_

 _“_ Wait,” Jason exclaimed, because he didn’t want Dick to hang up yet. He needed to talk to Dick. He might be able to text him and hope Dick would respond, but Dick might also just block his number as soon as he hung up. And they needed to talk!

“ _What?_ ”

“Look, I’m sorry.” It was way too easy for him to fall back to being snide. He needed to work on that or something. He didn’t need to be a mouthy asshole anymore. Annoy people so much they left him alone. He didn’t… want. For the people around him to leave him alone anymore.

“It’s just, he’s a little kid and I like him and no one seems to be sticking up for him. And you’re being a _jerk.”_

Big brothers weren’t supposed to be such assholes to their little brothers.

At least, that’s not what Jason _thought_ big brothers were supposed to be. He’d never had or been one. He just knew that _living_ with a little kid made him very defensive of said kid. So how could someone who was actually related to and supposedly loved the same kid be such a dick? Er. Jerk?

Dick sounded like he took a deep breath and blew it all out his mouth. When he said, “ _I get it, okay? But it’s more complicated than you think,_ ” Jason was reminded that he had _no idea_ why Dick ran away.

Maybe Bruce was a bad parent.

Or had used Dick. Or mistreated him. Or worse.

Jason had no clue. And Bruce was a biased source. Obviously. He never gave straight answers on the topic of Dick, either. Always vague answers like, “we got into a fight,” and “he’s mad at me.”

But Dick would know.

“Why’d you run away, anyway?” Jason said, falling backward onto his bed so he was lying down, staring up at the ceiling. He had very little faith Dick would flip to friendly and spill his guts, but he could hope.

He hadn’t hung up, at least.

Dick sighed really _really_ loud again, making Jason wonder if he ever did anything else, but said, “ _Bruce…_ ” and trailed off. After sighing _again,_ the freak, he finished, “ _It’s complicated, don’t worry about it._ ”

Okay. So it was bad.

“He didn’t like,” Jason started, then frowned. Because what could Bruce have done to drive Dick away? “He didn’t hit you or anything, did he?”

 _“No, no_ ,” Dick said quickly, “of course not. _He’s not like that._ ”

Jason relaxed his shoulders and nodded. That was a relief. What he had been expecting, of course. But it was always an option…

“Good. Um, did he- did he kick you out? Roy says he kicked you out but Bruce says you ran away.”

“ _Why did you call me, kid?_ ” Dick asked, instead of answering. Which was annoying. Because that was _why_ Jason had called.

“I don’t get it,” he said, throwing his arm out dramatically, “If I could stay here forever, I totally would. I don’t get why anyone would leave here.”

He’d take staying here until he turned 18 in a heartbeat. It was the best foster home he’d ever heard of. And Bruce and Alfred made staying with the same adults for six years not scary at all.

“ _What do you mean ‘if’ you could?_ ” Dick asked, clearly confused, “ _Isn’t he adopting you?_ ”

That made Jason blink.

Because Roy had thought the exact same thing. He’d said that Bruce told Oliver that. And if Dick thought that, had Bruce told Dick that too?

But Bruce and Dick weren’t talking. So no, probably not. Dick was just assuming.

Assuming badly.

“No.”

Besides, why on earth would Bruce go telling other people he was adopting Jason, and not tell Jason himself? That was dumb.

“ _Kid, he’s definitely adopting you._ ”

“No, he’s not,” Jason insisted, because, again. He’d fucking know. Right? “He’s sending me to boarding school in January.”

“ _Okay, but I saw him talk about you for about five seconds and I could tell he loves you. Like, a lot. So…_ ”

They had talked about Jason when they were fighting that day Dick visited?

Of course they had talked about Jason.

Dick had seemed rather startled Jason was there.

But Dick didn’t know anything.

“What? No. He’s just helping me get off the street.”

Although…

Bruce was being pretty affectionate lately. It was a little weird, sometimes. Not in a bad way, of course. Jason hated to admit how happy it usually made him feel. And if not happy, at least content or comforted. But it was still weird to have a person who wasn’t his mom pull him into hugs randomly. Or kiss him.

That… that was the weirdest part. His father had _never_ be so affectionate with him. Never. He probably would have killed himself before being so affectionate with anyone. But Bruce had started treating him almost exactly like he treated Damian.

His father probably never loved him. But was Dick right? Did Bruce?

“ _And he talks about you pretty much every day in the voice mails he leaves me,_ ” Dick added, sounding rather smug. Was he _enjoying_ making Jason question everything he thought he knew? What an asshole.

“Wait, you listen to them?” Bruce had said Dick didn’t but he left them anyway to make sure Dick still knew he thought about him.

“ _Maybe,”_ Dick said, after hesitating for a second, “ _Some of them. Sometimes. But my point is, he’s definitely adopting you and I bet if you just said, ‘hey Bruce, can I go to Gotham Academy instead’ he’d be insanely relieved.”_

 _“He’s got this weird thing about honoring promises he’s made to people, even if it’s_ obvious _neither of you want that anymore. Like with me, I told him originally I didn’t want to be adopted. It took him_ years _to finally offer, because he thought I’d still want what I wanted in the first days I was living with him.”_

Jason couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He could barely even think.

Because _he_ had said, like the second or third day with Bruce there was ‘no way’ he wanted to be adopted. Because parents sucked and he didn’t want to be stuck with anyone for six years.

Holy shit.

Holy shit. Holy fuck.

Was this really… was it his fault? For saying that? He hadn’t meant, like, he would say no if _good_ parents wanted to adopt him. It had always been kind of a dream of his. For awesome parents to just find him and keep him and make him theirs.

But he’d always known it was a pipe dream. One that would never, in a million years, happen. Because who the fuck wanted some piece of street trash from Crime Alley?

Literally no one. Well, traffickers and such. But they didn’t count.

Then Bruce picked him up. And kept him. He kept saying he cared about him, and he was so affectionate. And Dick seemed to think… and Roy, too.

“ _Kid? You still there?_ ”

“I-I said,” Jason whispered, a little horrified with himself for ever saying it at all, “when I first met him…”

“ _That you didn’t want to be adopted?_ ” Jason nodded, not that it did anything, but Dick seemed to catch it anyhow, “ _I know. He told me. Just tell him, okay? Because he’ll out-stubborn you, trust me._ ”

“Wow,” he whispered. Because this was a lot to take in.

How on _earth_ was he going to be able to _ask_ Bruce, ‘hey could you adopt me?’

If he had trouble working up the courage to ask permission to go somewhere, how in the hell would he ever gather up enough to ask for something so serious? Asking to be adopted by the richest man in Gotham felt like… it _was_ like asking to be put in his will. To become one of his heirs. _How could he do that?_

“ _Why’d you call me?_ ” Dick asked again, although he wasn’t mad anymore. It was weird. Jason was still reeling.

“Uh. I wanted to know why you left. If-if Bruce was bad or something.”

Dick sighed and stared with, “ _It’s com-_ ” but Jason cut him off.

“Don’t say it’s complicated. Just explain it to me.”

“ _It’s not_ ,” Dick said, then let out a frustrated huff and continued, “ _It’s not something that’ll affect you, okay? It had to do with Robin. So if you don’t become a vigilante, you won’t have a problem._ ”

“What did he do to Robin?”

“ _Nothing. It’s- ugh_ ,” Dick nearly growled, although Jason could tell he was annoyed and upset, not really angry with Jason. Which was cool. This was going way better than he’d anticipated.

“ _Fine. I’ll tell you, but you probably won’t understand. Bruce wants me to go to college and work at WE or something. He wanted me to get a business degree_.”

“You left because you didn’t want to go to college…?” That was the most ridiculous thing Jason had heard in his entire life.

His opinion of Dick kind of lowered at that. What kind of idiot turned down college?

“ _No, I’m setting it up. Shut up and listen._ ”

“Fine.”

“ _So he’s been riding me for the last year or so about going to college, and I kept telling him I didn’t want to do that. Being Robin is my life, you know? Helping people is what I want to spend my life doing, and I can’t do that if I’m trapped in a horrible 9-5 job.”_

 _“I_ told _him all this, but he completely ignored me. Every time I said anything contrary to the plans_ he _had for me, he shut me down or just ignored it completely. Then I go and get shot, which, by the way, happens to him quite often, so he’s a giant hypocrite for freaking out, he_ fires me.”

“Like, from Robin, right?” Maybe that’s what Roy meant by ‘kicked him out.’ Maybe that’s where Roy got misled. Jason could see that.

“ _Yeah, for something I couldn’t control. He was trying to force me down a path I didn’t want to go and then took the only thing in life that mattered to me. I can’t just drop Robin. Helping people, doing this job, it’s who I am. And Bruce was trying to change that, so I left.”_

“Oh,” Jason said, for lack of any other words. Because… oh. That made sense…

Well, Jason wouldn’t have run away over being ‘forced’ to go to college. Jason would kill to go to college. If Bruce wanted to pay for his college, he’d not protest for a single second. Hell, he’d study whatever Bruce wanted him to study. Just to have the opportunity was enough for him.

Kids like him, kids from Crime Alley. Street kids. They didn’t go to college. They joined gangs and went to jail.

Dick was a rich kid, though. So Jason supposed he could forgive him for taking the opportunity for granted. Kind of.

Bruce was definitely being an asshole, though.

“ _Yeah, so, satisfied?_ ”

Was he satisfied? Probably not. He had a lot to think about now. Bruce being an asshole, thinking he could direct the life of his kid. Bruce not being an asshole, and thinking he was respecting Jason’s boundaries by not adopting him, even though Jason would love that. And just about everything that came along with both of those things.

He had a _shit ton_ to think about. And maybe talk to Bruce about.

Which was terrifying.

“ _Okay, well tell Damian I love him, all right?_ ”

Jason nodded. “Sure.” Whether he actually would, he hadn’t decided. Because telling him meant he’d talked to Dick. But it was also something Damian needed to hear. So maybe.

“ _Cool. So, good chat. If you ever need something, I guess you can call me,”_ Dick said, in a way Jason knew he was about to hang up, whether Jason responded or not, and he hadn’t asked everything yet.

“Wait,” he exclaimed, then rushed out, “Can I come to the tower?”

Which, of course, startled Dick. “ _What?_ ” He probably thought Jason was wanting to visit him. Ha.

“Roy invited me, but Bruce said I couldn’t go unless I had your permission,” Jason explained, leaving out the fact that Roy was a giant chicken and and refused to ask himself, “He wanted you to make sure I didn’t do superhero stuff or something.”

“ _Uhh, sure. I guess. Whatever. Just text me if you’re coming, okay?_ ”

“Yes! Awesome, I totally will.”

“ _Bye, Jason,”_ Dick said, in exasperated amusement.

But Jason didn’t care. Because he could go to the tower!

“Bye, Dick!” he said, just as the line clicked.

This was so awesome. He couldn’t wait to tell Roy.

He had a shit ton to think about, but at least he got that. Maybe Dick wasn’t a dick after all.

Well, he still was a dick to Damian. But not as much. Jerk! He was a jerk. But Bruce had been an ass, too.

Yeah. Dick was right. It was ‘complicated.’

But that’s okay. Now that Jason knew, maybe he could tell Bruce to stop being an ass, and make Damian talk to Dick again, and everything would smooth over. Then he could think about those other things Dick had said.

That would work. Because he didn’t really want to deal with any of it right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, so it's _one_ of the things y'all been waiting for. We're that much closer to big brother Dick. :D
> 
> It's 1am, so I haven't actually proofed this yet, but google wasn't pointing at anything so hopefully it's okay. xD 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed that! I love comments, so don't be shy. Thanks for reading. ❤️❤️❤️


	23. Clarity

It was rare Bruce found himself sitting on the edge of his seat, engrossed in a news report. Usually when something huge broke, be it a robbery or alien invasion, Bruce suited up and listened to the report over his comm as he went to get himself into the thick of things. 

That time, though? Well, Bruce found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. 

Metaphorically, of course. Because in actuality, he was leaned back against the couch, so he could more comfortably elevate his left ankle on the tower of pillows Alfred had all but forced him to use. 

Since it was Tuesday, Bruce had felt guilty Alfred had to fuss over him at all, so he’d been more willing to submit to a prescription of ‘rest’ than normal. Because, really. It was just a sprain. Unfortunate result of a hard landing the night before.

But that was _before_ the Museum of Ancient History got held up at 1 in the afternoon. 

Ordinarily, he would have suited up and gone to assist the police, regardless of injury. Especially since the gunmen took about three dozen hostages and police weren’t able to get a good shot in at anyone to resolve anything. 

Even his sprained ankle wouldn’t keep him at home. His boots had plenty of support in them, it wouldn’t be _terrible._ And Jason would be fine on his own for a couple hours, even with Alfred actually out of the house for the day. 

What kept him firmly planted on the couch was the text he received at the _exact instant_ his tablet alerted him of the situation, which simply read, ‘ _It’s mine, don’t you dare_.’

So Bruce had spent the following 20 minutes watching with rapt attention as Catwoman made her way into the building, something even the news media missed as it happened. Bruce only caught it because he’d been expecting it. 

And had maybe hacked the security feed from the museum. 

He needed to make sure she _could_ handle it. Not that he doubted her. He just… got worried.

This wasn’t her scene. She helped him with cases, sure. A lot in recent months, since Dick let. But she hadn’t quite stepped into the identity of ‘hero’ quite yet. Bruce _knew_ it was only a matter of time, but Selina was so vocal about not wanting to be a hero. 

She joked constantly that spending too much time with him would ‘turn her good,’ and they certainly couldn’t have that. But Bruce knew she was _already_ good. And had been for quite some time. 

Actually, he hadn’t had much of a problem with her in years. Not since they started spending more time together, way back when Damian was a baby. And he was not about to pretend that was because of his influence on her. He knew that, deep down, she had always been good. Even when she was committing crimes and robbing places left and right, she always had a reason. Always had a purpose for her action, and it was never because ‘I thought this necklace was pretty,’ no matter how many times she _claimed_ that was the reason.

All those injustices she saw, that, with no other option available to her, she had once broken the law to rectify, she no longer needed to. Stealing stolen goods was not the only way anymore. Now she had the full attention of Batman. And all his money right at her fingertips, rather she fully realized or admitted that to herself or not. 

Not that she _didn’t_ steal. Sometimes. 

He didn’t approve of her escapades, when she did, but he could at least admit her motivations were not bad. And she never kept the goods she stole. They were always returned or donated. He didn’t approve of the whole, ‘if I rob a robber, it’s not robbing’ concept, which she was a fan of spouting, but he had no good retort to ‘what does it mean if you beat a beater.’ 

Jason came almost _skipping_ into the room right at the climax of the hostage situation. Selina had found her way into the room where the final thug was holding up 13 people, and was just about to drop down onto the man’s shoulders when Jason leaned up against the couch beside him and said, “Hey, Bruce!”

Bruce looked up briefly, just enough to acknowledge Jason’s presence, but then had to do a double take to get a good look at his kid’s face. Because Jason was smiling such an easy smile, such a beautiful, radiant smile, that Bruce wanted to stare at it. To never lose sight of _that._

They’d come so far, hadn’t they? How long had Jason been with them? About 13 weeks. Three short months. 

In three months, Jason had gone from a kid who hid behind faux bravado to one with _this_ easy smile. 

A smile that lit up brighter with Bruce’s attention. 

He loved this kid _so much._ And he was relieved to find Jason starting to reciprocate some of that. At least the trust and desire for attention. 

Soon he’d be able to broach the topic of adoption. He was _dying_ to offer that to Jason, but terrified asking a moment too early would ruin it all. 

For now, he’d bask in Jason’s growing happiness. 

“Is that Selina?” Jason asked, leaning further over the back of the couch to get a good look at Bruce’s tablet. 

Returning his attention to the situation at hand, Bruce nodded and looked back just in time to see Selina wrap her legs around the thug’s neck as she grabbed hold of his rifle and pointed it straight at the ceiling. He started pulling the trigger, so she hit the magazine release button, effectively disarming the gun and panicking the thug. 

It was while she flipped the man onto the ground that Jason said, in absolute awe, “She’s so badass.” 

The laugh that escaped Bruce was a surprise to himself, with how tense he’d been just a minute ago, but Jason was right. She had it handled, he had no reason to be as worried as he was.

“She is, isn’t she?”

“You know,” Jason said, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone that was endlessly amusing, “everyone thinks you two are getting married.”

Well, it was amusing until he felt the need to weigh in on _that_ little topic. 

Because he was well aware. There was at least one article every three months in the local gossip rags about it. 

The number of times they’d been asked by reporters about it, too, was exhausting. 

“Well, we aren’t,” he said shortly, rolling his eyes at how Jason’s grin only widened. They weren’t even _dating_ at the moment, so if everyone could drop it, he’d live a happy man. 

“You should be, though.”

“Don’t you have schoolwork to do?” Bruce asked, clicking his tablet off just as the police placed handcuffs around that last thug, officially ending the hostage situation. Selina had saved the day, and now she’d have to deal with the repercussions of doing so in broad daylight. He looked forward to hearing her whine about all the ‘positive attention’ she was getting and listen to her scheming to commit enough crimes to weight it all back out again. 

“Nope,” Jason said, catapulting himself up and over the back of the couch to land right next to Bruce, jostling his ankle in the process. “Oh, sorry Bruce’s ankle. But no, I’m done for today.”

“Sorry Bruce’s ankle?” Bruce parroted, and the way Jason’s face went from happy and open to downright devious made Bruce wish he hadn’t asked at all.

“Yep. You don’t deserve apologies, but your ankle is innocent.”

Bruce didn’t want to ask, but he was sure he would hear about it, anyway, so he reluctantly asked, “May I ask why?”

“Cause you’re an asshole,” Jason said smugly, and Bruce was again swept up in this little kid’s joy. 

He’d do anything to keep Jason safe and happy, and it thrilled him that he could say ‘keep’ rather than ‘make.’ 

“Because of my face, right?”

“Yeah,” Jason said with a breathless laugh, before turning a tad more serious and adding, “You’re also a giant hypocrite.”

Curiosity piqued, Bruce asked, “How so?”

“Dick says you get shot all the time, but the _one time_ he gets only a little bit shot, you freak out and fire him.”

To call Bruce startled would be underselling it. He was downright blindsided. Jason and Dick had spoken?

How on _earth_ did that happen?

Dick and _Damian_ still hadn’t spoken. Not since Dick’s last visit. And he sure as hell hadn’t answered any of Bruce’s calls. 

And was that honestly what this was all about? Because Bruce had _apologized_ for that. And he was about to walk it back, when Dick had left in the first place.

“Jason, it wasn’t just because-” Bruce started, then sighed and tried his best to shift so he was facing Jason more. His leg wouldn’t let him turn far, so he slung an arm back behind Jason and rephrased, “He’s my son. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

In the end, that was the reason _why_ he’d fired Dick. Yes, it was an overreaction. Yes, he regretted doing it. But it still rang true. He didn’t want to see Dick get hurt. And if he could find a way to get Dick to quit on his own, Bruce would do it. He didn’t want to see any of his kids out there, where they could get hurt and possibly die. 

He fought to make the city safe for kids everywhere. There was no reason why his own kids should be exempted from that safety. He fought _for them,_ so they wouldn’t have to. If only he’d found a way to say ‘no’ to Dick in the first place, and never allowed him out on the streets at all. He’d be safe and they wouldn’t even be having this problem.

But now that he _was_ Robin, Bruce knew he couldn’t stop him. Just like no one would be able to stop him from being Batman. Pushing him away so he was outside his reach, away from his safety net, however, had been the worst thing he’d ever done.

“Yeah,” Jason said, slowly as if he thought he were talking to an idiot, “And you’re his dad. What’s the difference?”

“It’s my job to protect _him,”_ Bruce insisted, “Not the other way around.”

“By making him do stuff against his will?”

Bruce blinked at that. Because he wasn’t sure he followed. Firing him against his will? He hadn’t really forced anything, in the end, since Dick simply left before he could be forced to quit. 

So that couldn’t be what Jason was implying. Was it?

“What do you mean? What are we talking about here?”

“You’re so big on letting me choose my future,” Jason started, looking away from Bruce to stare at the wall ahead of them. With every word, Bruce could see him start to curl in on himself, if only internally. Hear the anxiety crawl up and choke out the happy little boy he’d been only minutes earlier. 

He hated that anything he’d done, even if as indirectly as doing it to _Dick_ was, was making Jason feel anxious. Was causing his confidence to wane as dramatically as it was.

“Why aren’t you like that with Dick? Is it-” Jason paused, and took a shaky breath before finishing, “Is it because I’m not your kid so you don’t really care what I do?”

“Whoa, hey,” he said, placing a hand on top of Jason’s head, trying to offer even a little bit of steadying comfort, “Of course not, Jay. You know I care about you.”

Jason nodded, but wrapped his arms around his legs, which he pulled up onto the couch to rest his chin on. Bruce frowned, but gave Jason a pat on the back before removing his hand entirely to let him be. 

He had no idea what was going on, but he was at least grateful that Jason hadn’t turned jumpy yet. Small miracles. 

“What’s this all about?” he asked soothingly, hoping to sound as gentle and non-threatening as possible. The longer he could keep Jason from getting jumpy, the better. It killed him every time Jason showed sign that he thought Bruce might hurt him.

It took a minute, but Jason eventually muttered, “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but remained otherwise silent. He didn’t know what Jason was talking about, what he needed to ‘figure out,’ but didn’t have anything to say to help. He was still incredibly lost.

“You’re like, the opposite of controlling to me,” Jason eventually said, still staring off into space, hugging onto his knees, “Or Damian, really. But Dick says you are very controlling and tried to force him down a path he didn’t want to go so hard he had to leave.”

Dick said that?

There was no way this was about Robin. It couldn’t be. Bruce _hadn’t forced him down that path_ yet. And he wasn’t even going to. 

Bruce had to think back and replay his conversation with Dick that night over in his head to even get a hint at what he might have meant. 

It wasn’t a difficult task. He’d spent plenty of sleepless nights replaying their fight over and over, trying to come up with a way he could have smoothed it all over and dealt with it better. 

The only other topic he could come up with, outside of Robin, was Dick’s schooling. His future beyond high school. And sure, they’d fought about whether Dick was going to college countless times, but there was no way _that_ was why he left. 

Was it?

“Do you mean college? Are we talking about college here?”

Jason just nodded, but that was all Bruce needed to be sent spinning. 

_College._

This was about fucking _college._

“He doesn’t want to go to college _that badly?”_ Bruce said, almost a whisper, because it had never occurred to him that _that_ was what this was all about. Sure, they’d had those fights, but never in a thousand years would it have occurred to Bruce that Dick felt so trapped that he thought he had to _leave_ to take agency of his own life.

“I don’t get it,” Jason admitted, shrugging as he did, “But yeah, he doesn’t want to go to college. He wants to be a hero or somethin’, I don’t know, he didn’t tell me exactly. Just said you were trying to force him down a path he didn’t want to go.”

“When did you talk to him?” Bruce was going to assume Jason had called Dick, because it was too large a coincidence that Jason got ahold of him only _after_ Bruce gave him a phone with Dick’s number programmed in, but he was still shocked Dick answered and held a full conversation with Jason. 

He’d been annoyed Bruce took Jason in, after all. Even if he seemed to understand why it was necessary, in the end…

“Earlier,” Jason said, “When you drove Damian to school.”

“Huh. Well, I’m impressed, son. He hasn’t answered a single one of our calls since he left.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason said, with a hint of a smile back on his face. Honestly, it was relieving to see. “That’s cause you’re an asshole. But he did let slip he listens to your voicemails now.” 

“Really?” Bruce asked, as he felt the warmth rush back into his chest. 

It wasn’t hopeless then, was it? 

Dick was talking to Jason, he was listening to Bruce’s voicemails. 

It wasn’t entirely hopeless. 

And Bruce could _fix_ it, if Dick’s problem was seriously that he didn’t want to go to college. 

God. 

Bruce wouldn’t have forced him to go in the first place, if he could come up with a viable option to support himself otherwise. 

Not that he really had to, but Bruce didn’t want him to be one of those useless billionaire’s kids’ with no real skill outside being rich. Material items were nice, but not permanent. 

He just wanted his son to be able to support himself, if it ever became necessary. And he wanted him to have a purpose in life. Something beyond his hero work. If being Robin was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, that was fine, but Bruce wanted him to take the time to _make sure._ To find _something_ that put meaning into his life. 

Maybe he should explain that. He needed to keep working on _explaining_ things to people. 

Speaking of, “Jay, why’d you want to talk to me about this?”

Jason shrugged, but did relax his arms to let his knees fall into more of a criss-cross position. “Just wanted to see if it was true.”

And the fact that Jason had simply _come to him,_ and _asked,_ spoke volumes there. 

“You aren’t concerned I’ll try to start controlling you, are you?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer to that. 

When all Jason did was shrug, which meant he _did_ worry about it, Bruce assured him, “I won’t, okay? Not because I don’t care about you, because you _know_ that’s not true.” 

He paused just long enough to take in Jason’s shy smile in response, and continued, “But because you’re your own person and I respect that, okay? I’m sorry it seems like I didn’t respect that with Dick.”

“You’re going to fix that, right?” Jason asked, turning to face Bruce and stare him straight in the eyes. “You’ll tell _him_ that?”

“Of course, Jay,” he said, looping an arm around the boy’s shoulders and tugging him closer, “And I appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t have to fix our problems, all right?”

“Pfft,” Jason said, even as he sank into Bruce’s hold. Just a little. “You guys need a mediator.”

“You’re a good kid,” Bruce said, squeezing a little until Jason squirmed in his hold.

“Duh,” Jason said as he pushed away from Bruce and grinned, “But you’re an idiot and need all the help in the world.”

“Then, thanks, Jay.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Jason said, jumping up on the couch to hop back over the back, because apparently Bruce couldn’t have _one child_ that used furniture properly. At least Alfred wasn’t around to see. 

“I’m going to start charging for mediation,” Jason declared, as he turned to leave.

“Are you, now?”

“Yep, so you people better get your shit together!” he shouted, from outside the room and down the hall. 

“Language,” Bruce shouted back after him, then settled back down in his seat. 

He definitely needed to sit Jason down and discuss adoption, he thought, as he turned his tablet back on to see a string of texts from Selina. 

Every one of them were her whining about how annoying the media was being, and how ‘easy’ it is to be a hero and how much Bruce and the ‘other goody-goodies’ over-exaggerated it. 

Jason was maybe at the point where he’d receive the conversation well. If he still wanted to go to boarding school, Bruce would send him, but he honestly didn’t like the idea of boarding school. It would have been fine for a Jason who never came to be part of their family like he had, but he didn’t want to rip Jason away from that, now. 

Boarding school created abandonment issues in children. He’d watched plenty of documentaries on the topic, and seen it in his own peers growing up. The children of other wealthy Gothamites, who sent their children away every year. 

If Jason wasn’t comfortable remaining with them, he’d gladly send him to boarding school regardless, because Jason’s wellbeing was more important to him. But if Jason were growing attached to them, too, like Bruce suspected, the last thing he wanted to do was contribute to the abandonment he’d experienced in his life. 

And now, apparently, he needed to have a chat with Dick. 

Actually, Dick might be far more pressing. How in the hell did he miss _this._

This entire time, he’d been completely _wrong_ about the crux of the argument. 

Of _course_ Dick hadn’t reached back out to him, he’d been a total bone head about the entire thing. For all Dick knew, Bruce wasn’t even _trying_ to fix what was wrong. Instead, he’d just been leaving him voicemails to keep him in the loop at home. Not actually address what their fight was about. 

Bruce was going to fix that. Because having Dick in his life was far more important than any ambitions he might have had for the boy. 

Honestly, as long as Dick was happy, Bruce would be, too. 

He just needed to find a way to tell Dick that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo. 
> 
> As I mentioned on Tumblr, this chapter split into two. :) So we're still at 4 more chapters, unless I decide to skip one of them, which is entirely possible. It just keeps dragging up closer and closer to December as my finish date. 😂
> 
> Anyway, I’ve been stressed AF the past couple weeks and decided on Friday that I'm taking a dang vacation. In two weeks. For the entire Veterans Day Weekend, and I think I'm leaving my laptop at home and just getting away from everything. I'll still have my phone and will likely be all over Tumblr, since I'm going on vacation alone and tend to post more to social media when I'm lonely...... don't psychoanalyze me people I know. Kay? Kay. 😂Anyway. So I'm going to _try_ to write the next two chapters before so I can just hit 'post' from my phone sometime that weekend and not worry about it, but if I don't get it done, I'm not going to push myself to write it, either. Cause, again, stressed AF. lol But yeah. If I don't post, just know I'm having a ball eating food other people made me and going shopping and watching HGTV in the hotel. I'm going to buy so many comics, I already know it. Cause there's an Ollie's near where I'm going. Very excited. I hope they have a lot of comics in when I'm there. LOL My boss was quite -_- at me when I said I picked a hotel specifically because of a friggen discount store I'm in love with. I don't even care. XD
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all, and let me know what you thought!! I'm so excited how quickly everything is progressing now. :)


	24. Talking

Bruce spent the hour after Jason ran off fighting with himself. Part of him wanted to call Dick and keep calling him until the kid _answered_ his damn phone. But he knew that would only anger Dick. Or annoy him. If he even answered. He might even block Bruce and be done with it.

Another part of him wanted to send him a text, or an email. But he ran into the same dilemma. Would Dick even read it?

If Jason was right and he _was_ listening to voicemails, Bruce could leave him another voicemail begging him to call Bruce back so they could talk this through, but it’s not like he hadn’t tried that already.

What they really needed to do was sit down, face to face, and talk through whatever the hell was going on. That’s what Karen would tell him. That’s what Karen _had_ been telling him.

They needed to have a calm, reasonable discussion about everything Dick was upset about and find a way to fix the problem or compromise.

There was only one way Bruce saw that happening, and that was if he ambushed Dick and forced the conversation.

He saw that going one of two ways: Really, amazingly well, or horribly, awfully not well.

Dick would either hear him out and they’d have the conversation, or he’d flip out and explode on Bruce.

But was there an alternative?

If Dick wasn’t answering or returning calls or texts _or_ emails, did Bruce honestly have a choice?

No, as far as he was concerned. This needed to happen sooner or later, and considering he couldn’t go on patrol that night with his sprained ankle, anyway, it was as good a time as any.

Bruce made his way up to Jason’s room, and as he went, he use his phone to track Dick’s. It wasn’t a habit he had, but every once in a while he liked to make sure he knew where his son was. Since he didn’t track his every movement, he didn’t feel too horrible about it.

Dick was, indeed, at Titans Tower in New York, and since that was only a few hours from Gotham, he could drive up that afternoon.

Alfred was due back to the manor around 6, just in time to throw together something for dinner, but Bruce didn’t want to wait that long. He needed to get Damian from school regardless, and he didn’t trust Jason and Damian home alone that long.

Not that they _would_ get in trouble, but they certainly could. They’d been fighting more recently. It was both amusing and exasperating for Bruce to see them act more and more like brothers.

So, when he got to Jason’s door and knocked, he’d already decided the boys were joining him on a road trip.

“Dude, no way,” had been Jason’s excited remark to being told to get ready for a drive to New York, “Can we see the Statue of Liberty? Or go to the MET? I’ve always wanted to go to the MET.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, because he hadn’t thought through what else, if anything, they’d do in New York. He’d barely even considered getting a hotel for the night and driving back tomorrow. Six hours of driving in one day wouldn’t be a big deal to him, but he knew Damian would whine about it.

But making a trip out of it was certainly an option. “Maybe. Pack an overnight bag.” If it made Jason happy, they could certainly play tourist tomorrow. Damian was six. He could miss school.

Bruce packed himself and Damian bags, as well, and texted Alfred his plans.

Or, well, lack of plans. The fact that he and the boys were going to spend the night in New York, apparently.

Alfred sent his blessing, but reminded Bruce to pack his crutches.

Which was annoying.

But Bruce grabbed them and threw them into the passenger seat. So they’d be there. If he decided to actually use them. He’d put a walking boot on, so wasn’t that good enough?

Embarrassing enough, as it was.

And that was how Bruce found himself walking Jason into Gotham Academy for the first time. Jason had been in the car once or twice when Bruce picked Damian up, but never had they set foot inside the school together.

Jason trailed along beside him to go check Damian out early, looking around curiously as he did. “What grade does this school go up to?”

“Technically it’s a K-12 school,” Bruce said, opening the door to the front office and ushering Jason inside, “but this is the lower school, so it goes to grade 5.”

“Where is the 7th grade?” Jason asked, as he walked through the door, and Bruce did not at all miss the fact that _Jason_ was in 7th grade.

“The middle school. It’s the building beside this one. The upper school is the large building behind both.”

Nodding, Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and peered up at Bruce. “Did you go here?”

“He sure did,” Mrs. Phillips, the secretary, said as they approached the desk. She’d been the secretary for over 50 years for the lower school, “I remember your dad when he was barely out of diapers.”

“So, like, three weeks ago,” Jason said, grinning at Bruce in his bratty little way. It amazed Bruce how well Jason let ‘your dad’ comments roll off him while they were in public.

“Yes, Jay, three weeks ago,” Bruce said, ruffling Jason’s hair roughly enough that he bat at Bruce’s hands. Turning back to Mrs. Phillips, Bruce said, “I need to pick Damian up. Something’s come up and we’ll be out of town for the next couple days.”

“I hope everything is okay,” she said, as she pulled up Damian’s file on the computer.

“Oh, just fine. Have to take care of something in New York and figured the boys might enjoy the trip. Damian will be missing school tomorrow, too.”

“Sounds lovely,” she said, clicking something on the computer before she called Damian over the intercom.

It took a few minutes, and several more exchanges of pointless small talk, but Damian eventually appeared at the office and they were finally free to go to the car. He told Damian it was work related, when he’d asked in the front office what was going on, but even Damian understood when Bruce was trying to push a conversation off until they were in private.

“Where are we actually going?” Damian asked, skipping along on one side of Bruce, Jason on his other.

“New York,” Jason said, grinning as he did, “Bruce said we could go to the MET.”

“Baseball?” Damian asked, which just got Jason all riled up.

“Baseball? Seriously?” he screeched, turning to face Bruce, “What kind of dad are you, your kid doesn’t know what the _MET_ is.”

“You knew what the MET was,” Bruce pointed out, but that only made Jason glower.

“I knew about that before I met _you,”_ he said petulantly, then turned his glare on Damian and said, “it’s a _museum._ Like, one of the best in the _world.”_

“I said we might go there tomorrow, Jay,” Bruce said, as they all climbed into the car. When the doors were all shut, he added, “Today we’re going to the tower.”

“Like, Titans Tower?” Jason asked, at the same time Damian exclaimed, “We’re going to see Dick?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, laughing as he tossed Damian the bag he’d packed, “So change out of your uniform and get fastened.”

The boys watched a couple movies on the ride up, which meant Bruce was left to himself. Which, kind of sucked. He could follow the first movie pretty well, since he’d already seen _Cars_ at least a dozen times, so he had a distraction for at least that long.

But whatever the boys chose second from the far-too-many movies loaded on the iPad Bruce packed was too confusing to follow by just listening. It had something to do with Santa Claus and Jack Frost, or something, and was an odd choice for the beginning of November, but since the boys weren’t fighting or whining, he didn’t complain, either.

It just meant he tuned the movie out and got stuck listening to his own thoughts about all the wrong ways this meeting could go.

And the closer they got to New York, the more nervous Bruce got.

He’d purposely not called ahead, and instructed Jason and Damian not to say anything to Dick, either. He didn’t want Dick to conveniently find something better to do. He’d checked on Dick’s location one last time, too, when they stopped for drinks and snacks before entering the city. He was still in the tower. Which was great. But didn’t calm Bruce’s nerves one bit.

By the time Bruce pulled up to the video phone outside the tower’s garage, he was surprised he wasn’t sweating buckets. Garfield answered the call, and seemed absolutely shocked it was Bruce trying to gain access to the underground parking.

Bruce could have hacked it to let him in. He’d paid for _and_ designed this building, after all. But he figured trust was a thing he shouldn’t break.

Any more than he already did, at least.

“No way, Bruce Wayne,” Garfield said, still staring at the screen in shock.

“Hello Garfield,” Bruce said, not quite in his Batman gravel, but in a serious tone that most the public had never heard come from Brucie Wayne, “I need to speak to Dick.”

“Bruce,” Dick shouted, from somewhere off screen, “What the hell? You can’t just show up here.”

‘I own the building,’ he wanted to point out, but that wouldn’t help. Just make things worse.

Speaking of making things worse, Damian unbuckled himself and stuck his head up to the front seat so he could be seen on camera, too, and shouted, “Hi Dick!” excited to be seeing his brother for the first time in too-long.

But Bruce could see Dick shutting down over it. Not from anger, though. From something worse.

Bruce hadn’t want to send him on a guilt trip. He just wanted to speak to Dick as soon as possible. And that meant bringing the kids with him.

“Hey, Dami,” Dick finally forced out, putting on a smile that to most probably seemed genuine, but was clearly a facade to Bruce.

He was already struggling with this meeting, and Bruce needed to turn it around.

“Ten minutes Dick,” he said, as softly as he could while still being loud enough for the mic to pick up, “I just want to speak with you for ten minutes. If you want me to leave after that, I will.”

Dick considered him for a long moment, but finally jammed his hand against what Bruce knew to be the gate open button, and mumbled out a, “fine, but then you gotta leave.”

“We drove all this way for _ten minutes,”_ Jason mumbled, as they found a parking spot.

“Shut up,” Damian said, unbuckling himself before Bruce had even shifted into park, “We’re gonna see Dick!”

Damian practically ran to the elevator, bouncing happily as he did, and Jason followed along behind Bruce, soaking in every detail of the tower. If this went well, they’d need to give Jason a grand tour of the building. Bruce could tell he was going to like it.

If he thought this was impressive, he’d get a kick out of the Watchtower. Bruce kind of wanted to bring him up there just to see his face as he stared down at Earth from its orbit.

After a quick elevator ride to the main floor, Bruce found himself standing face to face with Dick, completely unprepared for how to proceed.

Garfield was there, of course, but had turned himself into a cat and was currently perched atop a high shelf, partially hidden in shadows as if no one would notice him up there.

As soon as the doors opened, Damian bolted forward and leapt into Dick’s arms, who gladly caught him and spun him around.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick said, hugging Damian tightly, “Still mad at me?”

“Yes,” Damian said into Dick’s shoulder, “a lot. I miss you. Are you coming home for my birthday?”

Dick set Damian down and kissed the side of his head, before stage whispering, “I don’t think I can miss your birthday, now can I?”

Bruce would be lying if he said that didn’t make him happy to hear. Maybe they’d be able to convince Dick to come early enough for Thanksgiving, too. The two events were only separated by a day.

“No, it’s illegal,” Damian said, grinning.

“This place is awesome,” Jason exclaimed, as he started to wander around the main living area, which was basically a great room made up of a kitchen, dining room, and large living room.

“No wonder you like it better here, Dick,” Jason continued, “it’s way less creepy than that old mansion.”

“The manor is not creepy,” Bruce sighed, “Boys, can you stay in here and _not get into trouble._ I need to speak to Dick in private.”

“We can play video games,” Garfield said, making Jason jump and Damian to grin even wider when he saw Garfield leap off the top of the shelf and transform back into a human.

“That was so cool,” Jason whispered, while Damian bounced over to give Garfield a hug.

“Hi,” Garfield said, returning Damian’s hug and then turning to Jason, “Do you know how to play Mario Kart?”

“Of _course_ I know how to play Mario Kart,” Jason responded, and Bruce figured Garfield would probably keep them out of trouble for at least a little while.

Dick motioned his head for Bruce to follow, so he did, down the hall and up the stairs to the next floor of quarters where Dick’s room was.

Once inside, Dick shut the door then flung himself at one of the swivel armchairs in the room.

“You want to talk, talk,” he said, spinning a little in his chair, as if trying to let of an air of indifference. Bruce could tell he was nervous, though. It was in how he refused to meet Bruce’s eye, and how his left leg twitched a little, and how he was still spinning in the chair.

Dick never spun around in his chair anymore. Not unless he was trying to distract himself.

Bruce sat on the coffee table in front of Dick, then reached out and caught his leg to still both the twitching and the swiveling. “Dick,” he started, and finally succeeded in getting eye contact from the boy.

And Dick’s face immediately fell. “Jason told you,” he said, leaning further back and rolling his eyes to the ceiling, “what a brat.”

“Did you honestly expect him not to tell me?” Bruce asked, a little amused, but he quickly sobered and said, “Look, I’m sorry.”

All Dick did in response was cross his arms and look away. Petulantly. This talk was going to be painful, Bruce could already tell. Part of him wanted to cut right to the chase and get it over with, as a result.

“If you don’t want to go to college, I’m not going to force you-”

“Do you honestly think _that’s_ what this is about?” Dick snapped, sitting up to glare at Bruce.

“Is it not?” Bruce asked. Because Jason had said Dick said… Ugh the run around with this.

How the heck was Bruce supposed to know what was going on if Dick wouldn’t even talk to him, anyway?

“Of course not! I mean, that’s _part_ of it, but you’re making me sound like a spoiled child.”

“Okay,” Bruce said slowly, reminding himself of how he’s capable of curbing his temper for Jason’s sake. There was absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t be able to do the same for his eldest son, too. Even if Dick wasn’t going to flinch and go hide behind some furniture if Bruce got angry, that still didn’t make it right to yell.

Besides, hadn’t Dick _said_ Bruce yelled at him too much?

Since a lot of their conversations had turned to yelling over the past year or so, Bruce couldn’t dispute it. It was probably true.

“So what is this about, then?”

“You don’t respect me,” Dick said, his words like weapons.

They cut, a little deep if Bruce had to admit it. And considering it took taking in a traumatized abuse victim for Bruce to realize he had to curb his anger with his kids, Dick might not be entirely wrong.

But then again, he _did_ respect Dick. He _loved_ his son.

“Bruce,” Dick exasperated, as if he could read Bruce’s mind, “I’ve been a vigilante almost as long as you have. I’ve been Robin for eight years. Eight! And yet you treat me like an unexperienced _child._ You act like I’m your _sidekick_ you can order around and fire at will.”

“I apologized for-” Bruce interjected, but was immediately silenced by Dick’s glare and shouting.

“Only after I made it clear you had no control over me. You only apologize when you _have_ to.”

“That’s not true,” Bruce protested, pushing the coffee table back some to put more distance between him and Dick, “I was coming upstairs to apologize that night when-”

“Then why didn’t you,” Dick cut in, his voice calm. As if he were sure of the answer. And, Dick probably _was_ sure.

Because the reason Bruce hadn’t apologized that night was because he got angry.

He got angry and he yelled. So much that he woke Damian up. And he had treated Dick like a child, rather than affirming the fact that Dick _was_ an independent hero on his own. Hell, Dick was the leader of a team, just like Bruce. Highly successful in his vigilante career, both inside and outside of Gotham.

As much as Bruce loathed to admit it, Dick was fully capable of making his own choices regarding his own safety.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, to which Dick rolled his eyes, and perhaps Bruce deserved that.

There wasn’t much that could excuse his behavior. There was most certainly a reason for his reaction to Dick being shot, but it wasn’t an _excuse._

“You got shot, Dick,” he started, just to be interrupted.

“I know but, _you_ get shot-”

Bruce held up a hand, and Dick, thankfully, quieted.

“I know, but let me finish. _You_ got shot. Right in front of me. I-I didn’t- It scared me, okay? You know how I lost my parents. I thought I was going to have to bury my son that night. For a split second, I thought-”

When Bruce was a child, he thought the worst thing that could happen was losing his parents. Now he realized that wasn't the case at all.

The worst thing that could happen was losing a  _child._

He'd die in a heartbeat for these kids. If that's what it took to protect any one of them, he'd lay down and accept his fate. Just like his parents had done that night. He couldn't bear the thought of them not experiencing life. Not growing up and becoming the great men they'd be one day.

It was a scary realization to have.  

“Bruce,” Dick said, as he sat up and forward some. So he was only inches from Bruce, who had placed his head into his hands. “Bruce, I’m fine. I _was_ fine.”

“I know. I’m _sorry_ ,” he sighed, lifting his head to make eye contact. Dick finally seemed to _understand,_ which was magnificent. “I just- I got scared. And instead of admitting that, I turned it into anger and took it out on you. I’m truly, deeply sorry, Dick.”

At that, Dick’s anger fully dissolved. Not into any emotion Bruce had expected, though. Instead of being content or forgiving or anything Bruce was looking for, Dick smirked and nearly _laughed._

“You figured that out yourself or did Karen help you?”

Bruce mirrored Dick’s smile and asked, “Does it matter?” Because of course he talked it out in therapy. It’s why he paid that woman an inordinate amount of money, after all. To do his emotional thinking for him.

Okay, okay, fine. To help him work through things he can’t do on his own.

Same thing.

“Dick, I want you to come home. I-”

“Bruce,” Dick interrupted, his smile morphing into an almost pained expression, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

When Dick didn’t answer, but rather, seemed to shrink in on himself by leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms again, Bruce sighed.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, all right? I won’t get mad.”

Dick looked up skeptically, but Bruce tried to offer him his best most encouraging face. “Really,” he added, “I promise. Whatever it is.”

“Bruce,” Dick sighed, before he paused to rub at his face, “you act like you can control my life just because I’m your kid. And the only time you _ever_ remind me that I’m your son is when you’re angry at me and trying to force me to do something I don’t want to do. I can’t-”

“You’re right,” Bruce cut in, before Dick could pause long enough to take a breath.

“What?”

“You’re right,” he repeated, because he was. Jason was right, too. “I’m an asshole.”

And he was.

He’d absolutely been taking Dick for granted. Or, at least, ignoring who Dick _really_ was in favor of who Bruce wanted him to be.

How long had Dick been telling him he didn’t want to go to college? Bruce was never going to _force_ Dick to go, but had he ever told Dick that? Had it even been a topic of discussion, to figure out what Dick wanted to do instead?

Dick couldn’t do _nothing_ with his life, outside the superhero community. At least, not with how in-the-public-eye they were. Perhaps it was unfair of Bruce to adopt children into such a high profile life, but it was what it was. And Dick knew that, he should understand that he had to do something with his civilian ID.

Dick’s lip twitched upward, just enough to reassure Bruce he wasn’t going to cry, but the issue clearly wasn’t fixed.

“I’ll work on that,” Bruce promised, “I love you, Dick. Just as much as I love Damian. You are just as much my son as he is, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.”

“You didn’t,” Dick whispered.

“I miss you. I’ll never stop wanting what’s best for you, because you're my son, but I will back off if you stop ignoring me.”

With that, Dick finally met Bruce’s eyes again, and said the words Bruce had been _hoping_ he’d hear, but terrified wouldn’t be true. “I miss you, too, Bruce. But… don’t make this an ultimatum.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” Bruce said quickly, reaching out and setting a hand on Dick’s knee, “It’s not. I’ll back off even if you keep ignoring me, okay?”

Laughing, Dick pat at Bruce’s hand and then sobered to say, “Bruce, I don’t want to keep fighting. But I’m not sure I can move back in. Not yet, at least.”

“How about dinner, then? Tonight? With the boys? Damian would love to spend the time with you, too.”

“Sure,” Dick agreed after only a brief hesitation. He then he stood, as though he wanted to go right then, so Bruce followed suit. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Good,” he responded, looping an arm around Dick’s shoulder he was, thankfully, allowed to keep there as they walked out of Dick’s room. Dick still felt a little tense under his arm, but at least he was there. Bruce could work with _there._

Bruce honestly hadn’t seen this going well. And, sure, Dick hadn’t agreed to move back in, but at least they were _talking._

They couldn’t fix anything if they didn’t talk, so Bruce was happy for the baby steps.

Besides, now he would get all three of his boys together at the same time, and nothing in the world could make him happier.

“I’ve been eager to introduce you to Jason properly,” Bruce said, squeezing Dick a little tighter as the approached the elevator.

“Have you adopted him yet?”

“No,” Bruce sighed, as the elevator dinged open, “I’m afraid he’ll panic and think I’m trying to trap him if I ask too soon.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dick said, laughing such a careless laugh Bruce had to smile, despite the insult.

“He’s a skittish kid,” Bruce insisted, not sure why Dick thought he knew better than Bruce with this. He’d talked to Jason what? Twice? Bruce had been living with the boy for months.

“Whatever you say, B,” Dick said, patting at Bruce’s arm before shaking himself free just as the elevator arrived at the main floor.

“What does that _mean?”_ Bruce asked, following Dick out to where the kids were playing Nintendo with Garfield. Had Jason told him something? Why would Dick think Jason _wasn’t_ skittish?

Dick smirked at him, then turned his attention to the boys’ game, as he leaned over on the couch behind them and started cheering for one of the NPCs to win.

That just caused all three kids to start yelling at him, but Bruce couldn’t hear them over the thoughts swirling around in his head.

Perhaps he should just sit Jason down and have a discussion about adoption. Jason had seemed curious enough about Gotham Academy. Maybe he’d be open to attending there, even if he didn’t want to become Bruce’s son.

And really, what was the worst that could happen? Jason run away and get killed by one of the gangs as he tried to fend for himself on the street again…?

Yeah.

That was… actually possible.

Bruce would have to think on a way to phrase it so there was no way Jason could construe it as Bruce trying to trap him.

He could do that. Probably. But maybe not until he got a chance to talk to Karen one more time about it. That… that would be helpful.

They still had plenty of time. Jason wasn’t set to take entrance exams for his chosen boarding school for a month. That was more than enough time for Bruce to figure this out.

Besides, Dick had agreed to stop ignoring Bruce. He should focus on one victory at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not perfect, but at least they're talking 😭😭😭 Dick's secretly been dying for Bruce to say some of these things, y'all. He misses his dad just as much as his dad misses him. :D 
> 
> Jason was a major nerd in this and went all 'I want to go to a famous museum I've heard about a lot!!!!' and now they're doing a mini-vacation in New York. Haven't decided if that's gonna be like... a chapter... or what. It wasn't in the plans. I'll find out next time I sit down to write and see where it takes me. :D
> 
> And remember, next week might be my accidental skip week. Sorry in advance if it is. Love you guys, thanks for all the nice comments and reading and everything. ❤️❤️❤️


	25. Peace

The impromptu family vacation to NYC ended up being far more fun than Bruce had anticipated. Which, wasn’t too difficult, because he hadn’t anticipated going on vacation at all.

They rented a nice suite at his favorite hotel in Manhattan. And while Damian had actually nearly thrown a fit over what Bruce got him for breakfast, Jason thought the entire concept of ‘room service’ was the coolest thing on the face of the planet. 

And that seemed to set the mood for Jason for the entire day. Every single thing they did was ‘the coolest,’ and Bruce hardly saw him do anything but smile.

What made it better was, Dick joined them for the afternoon. Bruce got to see all three of his boys interacting and having a good time, together. Even if it was still a little tense between him and Dick and, well, Dick didn’t talk to him much. He didn’t mind. 

Because Dick was _there._

He even got a picture of all three boys, together, in Times Square. Smiling. Like a family.

Bruce texted a copy of that immediately to Alfred, so they could get a print of it up _somewhere_ in the Manor. 

But, like all good things, the vacation had to come to an end. 

Jason’s mood, however, did not disappear. The week following was probably their best week yet, and all his happy smiles and easy laughter was really rubbing off on the rest of the family, especially Damian.

He also started showing Bruce just how much of a brat he was. It seemed there was nothing Jason enjoyed more than making fun of those around him, and if Bruce let himself think about it too hard, he’d start to tear up at the fact Jason felt _safe enough_ to call Bruce an idiot and tease him relentlessly for what he was wearing, or how he said a particular word. 

It was amazing.

They’d come so far. 

And it was almost funny that Jason didn’t seem to even realize that. 

It happened one morning, during their daily training session. Jason had relaxed enough that Bruce felt doing something that required more physical contact would be okay, and was finally teaching the boy hold breaking. 

Jason had been ecstatic about it, absolutely enthralled by Bruce’s every word as he walked Jason through pressure points on hands and arms, and taught him where to kick, bite, or pinch to cause a grown man to flinch back and drop him. 

They practiced for a while with simple wrist holds, arm holds, and the like. Bruce even grabbed Jason’s shirt at one point, tugging Jason toward him, and Jason was able to find a spot to pinch in Bruce’s hand. Bruce had to fight his own trained reflexes and actually let go at the spike of pain, but he was confident this method would work on the more amateur thugs Jason might ever encounter.

And as Jason’s strength continued to grow, Bruce would eventually teach him how to hit someone with the intent of breaking bones or snapping fingers, for the thugs more difficult to subdue.

By the time Bruce felt confident Jason was ready to practice with a full body hold, Jason had seemed so jazzed up about it that Bruce didn’t think a thing of it when he wrapped his arms around Jason from behind, pinning his arms to his side. 

“Okay,” Jason said, wiggling a little in Bruce’s hold, “I’m ready.” 

With that, Bruce lifted him in the air, and waited. 

They’d discussed what Jason would do. He’d think through all the pressure points he learned, and find one he could reach. Whether that be kicking him somewhere, or hitting or scratching him. Jason could also use his own weight against Bruce and try to simply slip out of the hold. It didn’t matter, it was entirely up to Jason to figure it out. 

But Jason didn’t do anything.

He just… froze. 

Bruce gave him a few seconds to think. Then a few more. Then he set Jason’s feet back on the floor and asked, “Do we need to review again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason choked out, and Bruce almost dropped him completely with it. 

Because as soon as Jason let that out, he started full on hyperventilating. Bruce could feel his heart pounding against his hand, feel his trembling begin. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered quickly, kneeling down with Jason, keeping his arms wrapped around still, but allowing none of Jason’s weight to be supported by Bruce’s hold, “Shh. It’s all right.” 

Jason’s panic only grew, so Bruce loosened his hold more and said, “Jay, just breathe. I’m not going to hurt you, you know that. I would _never_ hurt you.” 

“Bruce,” Jason gasped, his hands reaching up and gripping tightly to Bruce’s arm, “Bruce.” 

“Shh,” he repeated, “Just breathe, kiddo. Focus on my breathing and try to match it, can you do that?”

Nodding, Jason made an obvious effort to slow his breathing, but he was still panicking, Bruce could tell.

He honestly wasn’t sure what he should do. If he let go of Jason completely, he felt like that would be leaving Jason alone to deal with his panic by himself, but it was his hold that set him off in the first place. 

It would be good for Jason to learn that Bruce would never hurt him, no matter how vulnerable he was, but Bruce didn’t want to teach that lesson through _forcing_ contact with him.

But Jason’s fingers tightened on Bruce’s arm, his nails starting to dig painfully into his forearm, so Bruce decided that if Jason wanted out of the hug, he probably would have fought against it. It’s not like he had never pushed or hit Bruce in the past, in attempt to free himself, after all. 

“You’re safe,” Bruce whispered, setting his head down on top of Jason’s sweaty hair, still focused on keeping his own breathing in a slow and rhythmic pattern, “It’s just training, Jay. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Jason whispered, and Bruce could feel his tense little body slowly relax as his heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out.

It took about ten minutes for Jason to fully recover, but once he did, Bruce stood back up and said, “Okay, now get out of it.” 

“I don’t know how,” Jason whined, rather pathetically. Bruce had left his feet on the ground, and he wasn’t holding on particularly tight, either. All Jason really had to do was go limp, and he’d likely slip right out of Bruce’s arms. 

But Bruce also knew Jason was exhausted at this point. And probably not thinking entirely clearly yet. 

“You’ve got your feet,” Bruce reminded, shifting his hold a little to make sure Jason had use of his lower arms, “And your hands. Think about the pressure points, the sensitive spots. Use our size differences against me.”

“Bruce,” Jason cried, in such a way Bruce could just _tell_ he was actively trying to gain more pity. 

“Get out of this, and we’re done for the day, all right? You can do it, bud. Remember what we’ve been practicing.”

With a deep breath, Jason stood himself up a little straighter, then seemed to pause to think. After a second, he lifted his arms up, in attempt to push Bruce’s up, and while Bruce was distracted with figuring out what he was doing, Jason kicked him right in the knee.

Hard.

Bruce didn’t have to pretend to let go of Jason that time. Because he lost his balance, just enough that he needed his arms to catch himself. 

And, entirely ungracefully, Bruce landed right on his bottom, letting out an “oof” sound as he did. 

All of his instructors ever would be incredibly disappointed in him in that moment.

But he wasn’t thinking of any of that. Instead, he was looking at the shy little smile on Jason’s face, as if he were saying “yay I did it,” so soft, and so sweet.

After a second, it seemed to sink in what Jason had actually done, and his face turned a little paler, like he’d realized he just knocked Bruce _over,_ and possibly hurt him.

“Great job,” Bruce said, before Jason could start to panic over any of that. He held his hand up for Jason to high five, and then caught Jason’s hand when he did and squeezed, “That was great! We’ll keep practicing, we’ll do other holds, other ways, and soon enough you’ll be able to escape from anything.”

“Yeah,” Jason mumbled, pulling his hand away from Bruce to shove into his pockets, “if they wait five minutes for me to stop freaking out.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, squatting down in front of Jason and placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder, “It’s okay. You know how we can prevent those from happening?”

Jason picked his eyes up from staring at the ground and looked right at Bruce. “How?”

“Build your confidence.”

“Hmph,” Jason grumbled, scowling back down at the floor. 

“And we’ll do that by practice,” Bruce continued, squeezing Jason’s shoulder a little, “We keep practicing. You learn how to escape everything. You work hard and keep trying, and eventually you’ll realize that no one can hurt you. You can get away from anyone and defend yourself against any attack.”

Jason nodded, then frowned. 

It nearly killed Bruce that Jason couldn’t see the victories he’d had. This scarred little child had worked through a panic attack and then conquered what set it off in the first place. It was amazing. _He_ was amazing.

More than anything, Bruce wanted Jason to just _believe_ that.

Bruce felt like he watched it in slow motion as he saw Jason’s face go from semi-annoyed to absolutely devastated. 

When he should have been celebrating his amazing victory, Jason started outright sobbing, instead. 

And Bruce had no idea why.

“Jay, buddy, what’s wrong?” he asked, a little panicked, because he thought they were doing good. He thought Jason was okay. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” Jason cried, swiping at his eyes with his hand before he started to open his arms up for a hug. He hesitated, though, and seemed to realize what he was doing and took a step back.

But Bruce had seen. 

He’d seen, and he would gladly hug this child. 

Bruce pulled him in close and knelt down so he could more easily support Jason’s weight as Jason absolutely clung to him, still crying harder than he’d ever cried. 

“It’s all right, Jay,” he soothed, running a hand through Jason’s hair. Swaying him back and forth. 

Regardless of what set off this episode, Bruce couldn’t help think about how proud he was of Jason.

They really had come a far way.

Not only was Jason happy more often, but he’d just _asked_ for affection.

He’d outright asked for a hug, and Bruce could cry at the realization that his little boy. His precious, traumatized, skittish little boy had blossomed into one so secure in his safety in this house that he would actively seek out physical affection. 

God, he loved this kid so much. This amazing child who had made so much progress. Showed so many signs of healing in such a short period of time. 

Bruce.. Bruce was crying, just a little. He tried to blink away the tears, so he wouldn’t have to remove either of his hands from comforting his kid. 

When Jason finally started to calm, Bruce leaned down a kissed the side of Jason’s face.

Jason laughed, a little, at it, and said, “You’re such a jerk.”

“I’m a jerk?” Bruce repeated, trying his best to sound absolutely scandalized. He couldn’t quite stop smiling, though.

“Yeah,” Jason said, smiling himself. 

Bruce laughed, a wet laugh, and asked, “How am I a jerk?”

“I never usta cry,” Jason said, pushing back against Bruce, out of the hug. Bruce let his arms fall down at his sides, and listened as he continued, “but now I cry all the time. It’s _your fault.”_

Placing his hands on either side of Jason’s face, Bruce wiped Jason’s errant tears away with his thumbs. “Maybe it’s because you finally feel safe enough to cry. There’s nothing wrong with letting our hurt out, and it’s perfectly safe for you to do that here, all right?” Bruce pat at Jason’s cheek with his last words, eliciting another smile from Jason.

“Yeah, but no,” Jason said, his grin turning a little more devious. But even with the teasing on his face and in his words, Bruce could just _tell._ He could tell his words had hit home, and Jason _believed_ them. 

And if Jason weren’t looking at him, he would have started crying again.

“It’s because you’re an asshole.” 

“Come here,” Bruce said, tugging Jason back into a hug and burying his face into Jason’s hair. “I love you, Jay. You don’t even know, I’m so happy-” 

Bruce had to press his free hand into his eyes, to try and calm himself back down. He didn’t want to set Jason back off.

But it was too late. When Bruce’s words choked off, Jason started sobbing again, clinging tightly to the front of Bruce’s shirt as he did. He buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder, so Bruce kissed the top of his head and let him cry. 

“I’m not even your kid,” Jason eventually said, once he’d regained control of himself. His grip on Bruce’s shirt hadn’t loosened, though, so Bruce stayed holding him. His toes were starting to hurt from putting so much weight on them, but Bruce would honestly sit there for eight more hours if that’s what Jason wanted. He’d been longing for this conversation for months, and he wasn’t about to cut it short for anything.

“Sure you are.”

“No, I’m-” Jason tried, but Bruce cut him off.

“I’m claiming you as my kid. Right now. Get over it.”

Jason pulled back out of Bruce’s hug, and Bruce’s stomach twinged a little. 

Had he overstepped? 

Was Jason not okay with this, after all? 

But then Jason said, through a new bout of crying, “You really want to adopt me?” and all Bruce could do was smile.

Smile, because, “Yes. Yes, Jay. More than anything.”

He was a little ashamed of himself, for not asking sooner. For not conquering his anxieties about how Jason would take it. For not being able to just _tell_ this child how he felt. But he was so overwhelmingly relieved that Jason had picked up on it anyway. 

Jason flung himself back at Bruce, wrapping his arms tightly around Bruce’s neck as his cries turned into loud, almost breathless sobs. 

Bruce hated himself, a little more, for now making _both_ of his adopted children cry when he asked to adopt them. It was not a precedent he liked having set. 

Although Jason’s cries sounded happy and _relieved,_ rather than hurt and confused. He still didn’t know what had set Jason off in the first place, but he was glad this was the result.

“Do I still have to go to boarding school,” Jason eventually asked, after he’d turned his head out to the world, but still had it resting on Bruce’s shoulder.

“No, Jay,” he said, running his hand up and down Jason’s back, “You never _had_ to go to boarding school. If you want to stay here and go to Gotham Academy, that is entirely your choice. I would _love it_ if you stayed here.”

“Oh.” Jason finally pulled back away, and Bruce felt like they were finally at peace. Like Jason had _finally_ found whatever it is he’d been wanting, because he smiled shyly and pulled his shirt up to scrub his face clean. 

“Okay?” Bruce asked, shifting up onto the balls of his feet, giving his toes a much needed rest. 

Jason nodded. “Okay.” 

Bruce stood to his feet and let his legs and back stretch, before he turned back to Jason and said, “Why don’t you go shower off, then meet me in my study, all right?”

All Jason did was nod, then scurry off toward the locker room, so Bruce headed up stairs to clean up in his own bathroom. He at least needed to change shirts. Jason had thoroughly cried through the one he had on.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, as soon as Bruce walked through the clock at the top of the stairs, “is everything all right?”

“Better than all right, Alf,” Bruce replied, unable to contain his smile as he did, “Jason and I just had a great chat.” 

Alfred didn’t seem to buy that, because he raised an eyebrow and said, “From the looks of it, the poor lad just cried for an hour.” 

“It-” Bruce started, then ducked his head a little and rubbed at the back of his neck, “Uh. It was good for him. He needed it?”

With that, Alfred’s disapproving gaze only deepened, so Bruce added, “We talked about adoption.”

“And how did the young sir take it?”

“He agreed,” Bruce said, smiling again. Because he still couldn’t _believe._

How did this even happen? 

Never in his life would he have thought _this_ was how one had children. 

Twice now, though. _Twice,_ the universe had made it so he was somewhere in the right place at the right time, and had the absolute pleasure of meeting two completely different, but still absolutely wonderful kids. And _then,_ made it so he could take them home. And keep them. 

That… that was not how acquiring children was supposed to happen. 

And yet here he was. With three amazing children. 

He could not imagine his life without any of his kids. 

“That is excellent news,” Alfred said, and Bruce could tell he was just as ecstatic about the development as Bruce was. Just, in his very British way. “A celebration is in order. If you will excuse me, I have a meal to prepare.” 

As Bruce went about changing clothes and pulling together all the paperwork they’d need to get started, only one phrase repeated through his head. 

He had _three_ children. 

Life couldn’t get much better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) How this scene happened changed like three times, but I'm so happy to finally get to write it and share it. 
> 
> There are only two more chapters in my outline, guys. I'm a little shocked. But I'm very excited this is finally wrapping up.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️


	26. Thanksgiving

Jason had no idea what to expect when it came to Thanksgiving.

He’d read about what Thanksgiving was _supposed_ to be. Many times, actually. It was _supposed_ to be a day filled with food and family.

He’d, well. Obviously, he’d never experienced that before.

Ever.

Dad almost always had the day off, no matter what job he was working, be it legit or not. Which meant he was home. Usually drunk. And Mom didn’t put effort into things when he was like that.

Days spent like that were _never_ pleasant. Uncomfortably tense, at the best. Jason didn’t like thinking back to any of it.

Then since Mom died, Jason hadn’t even kept track of what month it was, much less bothered to know whether it was _Thanksgiving._ Why would it have mattered?

It’s not like he’d find a massive Thanksgiving feast in the _trash._

The homeless shelters might have put on Thanksgiving dinners, sure, but Jason couldn’t enter those places without getting Social Services all up in his business.

No. Thanksgiving had pretty much always been just another day. Nothing remarkable, nothing special.

Maybe that would change, now. Considering Dick was coming home for Thanksgiving, Jason assumed that meant Thanksgiving with the Waynes _was_ how Thanksgiving was supposed to be.

But he didn’t want to get his hopes up, just in case.

Bruce sat him down the night before, however, and went over what to expect the next day. Which was nice of him.

It meant he wasn’t going to be blindsided by the fact he had to come up with something to be ‘thankful’ for at dinner, since they went around the table and picked something before they ate. Bruce said he could pick anything and it wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings, even if everyone else said ‘family’ or something. If he wanted to say books, he could say that. If he wanted to pick a specific person in his life, or just the moon in the sky, it was entirely up to him.

Jason wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to say. He’d spent the rest of the night thinking about it, before he went to sleep. There was certainly _a lot_ he was thankful for, but he couldn’t just… _say_ it.

That would be… embarrassing.

Yeah.

And sappy. He didn’t like being sappy. Sappy was for books and, well, Bruce. Not Jason.

So he’d just have to keep thinking.

Maybe he _would_ say the moon. Just to make Bruce laugh.

-

When he woke in the morning, it was to a much fuller house.

Granted, there were only two extra people in the house, but that was a 50% increase in population.

Jason wasn’t nervous or nothing, though. He knew Selina pretty well, obviously, and Dick had been there the night before. Just briefly, before Jason went to bed. And he’d spent like almost a whole day with him in New York, so he wasn’t too self-conscious, shuffling into the dinning room in his PJs.

Especially not when Selina smiled at him and said, “Morning kitten,” between bites of her cereal.

Cereal?

“I didn’t know we had cereal,” he mumbled, as he took the seat next to Selina. He usually sat next to Damian, but Dick was currently occupying his seat. And not even looking up at him. Damian had at least looked at Jason and _acknowledged_ him, even if he didn’t say anything.

After considering the two options set out on the table in front of him, Jason chose the corn flakes and started pouring himself a bowl.

Was Dick ignoring him? Why the fuck-

“Yeah,” Dick finally said, still not looking up, but at least not being a total turd, Jason supposed, “Alfie’s busy making dinner. It’s easier on him if we just eat something cold.”

“We have a box of those atrocious microwave breakfast sandwiches your father fancies, if you’d prefer something warm, Master Jason,” Alfred said, carrying in a tray with a pot of coffee and carafe of orange juice.

“No thanks, Alfred,” Jason said, grinning as Alfred filled him a glass of orange juice, “What are you making for dinner? Can I help?”

Alfred graced Jason with a warm smile as he said, “Certainly my boy. Once you are prepared for the day, come to the kitchen and I will show you.”

 _That_ was something Jason could be thankful for. The opportunity to learn to cook. Alfred had been teaching him for a few weeks, at that point. He never turned down Jason’s offer of help and in return, Jason was rewarded with learning something new.

Every time.

Just the other day, Alfred had taught him how to cut up a whole chicken. It’d been a little gross, but in a fun way. They’d frozen some of the chicken, so Alfred could prepare it later, and slow cooked the breasts for tacos. It’d been so cool, learning how to save food and plan ahead.

Before that he’d learned how to peel and boil potatoes to make mashed potatoes.

Soon enough, Jason would know how to make enough things to make a _whole meal._ By himself.

Nine-year-old him would be so jealous.

When Jason finished getting dressed, as quickly as he could in a simple tshirt and jeans, he raced back to the kitchen to Alfred’s clear amusement.

“All right, lad,” he said, after washing his hands from cracking some eggs for something, Jason had no idea _what_ though, “How about you help me with the rolls.”

Jason followed Alfred’s instructions for loading the stand mixer with rapt attention. Making bread was a fucking _science._

This was something Jason was _definitely_ thankful for.

Alfred had him heat water to exactly 110º, after cooking together milk and butter and sugar on the stove.

Which was so awesome.

Being trusted enough to work with the stove.

Granted, he’d been nine when his mom died, but he had never been allowed to use the stove before.

He still did, of course, but only when his mom was too bad off to notice what he was doing.

Here, he was being outright encouraged to cook on the stove. Alfred had even found a step stool so Jason could stand up higher and actually see what he was doing.

“Checking the temperature of water?” Bruce asked, as he walked into the kitchen and up to Jason to peer over his shoulder.

Jason watched as the thermometer’s needle rose right to 110, then took it out and said, “Yeah, for the yeast.”

“Ah.”

“Bored of the parade already, sir?” Alfred asked, as he showed Jason how to dissolve in the yeast.

“It’s awful,” Bruce grumbled, taking a seat at the island to _pout._

Honestly. How could Jason have _ever_ been afraid of Bruce? He was like a giant child, sometimes.

Maybe that was another thing he was thankful for. Not being afraid anymore.

While they were putting all the ingredients in the bowl and set it to knead, Selina basically materialized into the kitchen. She must have slipped in while Jason was listening to Alfred talk about what happens to the gluten while kneading, because one moment it was just the three of them in there, Bruce behind them playing on his phone, and the next Selina was sitting basically on top of Bruce, and the two of them were being _gross._

“Ew, not in front of the food.”

Both of them laughed, and after one more kiss, Selina hopped down and walked over to Jason. “Jealous, kitten?” she asked, before setting one hand on his cheek so she could kiss the other.

“Ew,” he shouted, pushing her away and scrubbing at his cheek furiously. That was _gross._ She had _just_ been kissing Bruce.

Disgusting.

Jason needed to burn his face off, now.

“I’m so glad you’re keeping this one, Bruce,” Selina said, laughing as she returned to sit _next_ to Bruce at the island, “he’s a lot of fun.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agreed, smiling at Jason as he went back to whatever it was he’d been making before Jason asked to help.

“Yeah, I like him,” Bruce said, and Jason had to turn back around to look down into the mixing bowl. So no one could see him turning red.

There was another thing he could be thankful for. The adults around him actually wanting him around. It was a nice feeling…. To be wanted.

He knew his mom loved him, and she probably liked him, too. But it was clear his existence was really hard on her. And obviously his dad didn’t want him at all. He probably only kept Jason around because of Mom.

So to be someplace where the adults actively chose him, it was nice. He never thought he’d ever find that in his entire life. Much less when he was still a kid.

Jason jumped when something loud slammed to the ground behind him. He spun around just in time to see Bruce snatch Figaro off the ground, where she’d somehow managed to get completely covered in flour.

“Damian,” Bruce shouted, holding the cat over the sink as he tried to brush the white powder off, then murmured, “Stupid cat.”

“Oh, be nice,” Selina said as she picked up the mixing bowl and container of baking powder the cat had apparently knocked off the counter, “She’s just a baby.”

Alfred sighed, loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “That was the only baking powder we had.”

“I can run to Walmart,” Selina offered, moving out of the way so Alfred could sweep up the mess of ingredients on the floor.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. I couldn’t possibly-“

“Shut up, Alf. I’m going to Walmart. Do you need anything else?”

Amusingly, Alfred still looked stricken at the idea that Selina would run to the grocery store for him, so she added, “Besides, you need to stay here and tend to everything. It’ll be better if I go. We all know Bruce isn’t competent enough to do a grocery run.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, still trying to clean the cat, now with a damp rag that the cat was not happy about, “I’ve gone grocery shopping before.”

“Yes, and every time you allow the children to talk you into everything their hearts desire,” Alfred said, smiling fondly as he did.

“They’re my kids I can spoil them if I want to,” Bruce mumbled. “Shit,” he said, when the cat started to scratch at him, then shouted louder, “Damian.”

“Language,” Jason exclaimed, earning only an eye roll from Bruce, the friggen _hypocrite._

“Very well, Miss Kyle,” Alfred finally said, once he’d finished sweeping up the mess, “If it isn’t too much trouble, I could also use another gallon of almond milk.”

“Sure thing,” she said, turning to Bruce with her hand out.

He rolled his eyes and pinned the still mad cat to his side so he could pull out his wallet.

“Can I come?” Jason asked. He loved going to the grocery store. He’d gone with Alfred a couple times, and it was always fun. There was no way going with Selina would be _not_ fun.

And he’d get to avoid Bruce be grumpy about the cat, too. Let Damian and Dick deal with that.

“If it’s okay with your dad,” Selina said, as Bruce handed her a $100.

For milk and baking power.

He was _ridiculous._

But Jason probably shouldn’t say that if he wanted to get his way.

“ _Please,_ Bruce,” he whined, trying to give his best puppy dog eyes ever. Just like Damian had been teaching him.

They didn’t seem to affect Bruce at all. If he even noticed them. “You want to go to Walmart on Thanksgiving?”

“Yes.”

After sighing, Bruce said, “All right. Don’t cause too much trouble.” Then, he pulled out a $5 from his still open wallet and handed it to Jason.

“What’s this for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Bruce.

“Swear jar,” Bruce said, smirking a little as he put his wallet back away and moved the cat back into a more comfortable hold. She’d quit fighting him, but didn’t look very happy.

“We don’t have a swear jar.”

“Oh, then buy yourself a soda or something. I don’t care.”

“Come on, go get your coat,” Selina said, before Jason could come up with a response to Bruce.

“Thanks, Bruce,” he decided on, before he ran off to get his coat.

As he rounded the hall toward his room, he heard Bruce shout, much louder this time, “Damian Thomas Wayne.”

“What,” Damian shouted back.

And there was another thing. Angry parents that didn’t mean anything. Weren’t scary at all.

Jason _loved_ living in Wayne Manor.

-

In the garage, Jason found Selina sitting in the Lamborghini, grinning wide as she played with all the various buttons on the dash.

“Hey, kitten,” she said, when Jason opened the passenger door and climbed in, “Bruce said something about taking the Audi but then I saw _this._ I hope it’s okay with you.”

“Heck yeah!”

Bruce would probably be upset to know he hadn’t sat in a booster seat, since he was always so adamant Jason sit in those until he was 4’9”, for whatever reason. Something about the seatbelt not hitting right. Jason didn’t really care.

And what Bruce didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Selina drove _fast._

As soon as the garage door opened, she basically floored it and zoomed right down the driveway and down their private road.

It was more fun than the time Bruce drove him back to the Manor in the Batmobile. Even though he knew Selina wasn’t driving as fast as Bruce had been then. Probably had something to do with not freaking out over being driven to his death or something.

Well, Selina could crash and _could_ be driving him to his death as a result, but he kind of doubted it. She seemed to know what she was doing.

They didn’t spend too much time in Walmart, in the grad scheme of things. Selina knew exactly where the baking powder and almond milk were, and the only thing that really delayed them was all the workers _everywhere_ setting up a bunch of wrapped up things. When Jason asked what that was about, Selina had explained about ‘black Friday,’ which still didn’t make sense. Since it was _Thursday._

Up at the register, Selina had Jason pick out a soda and candy bar, making her officially his favorite person. Sure, Bruce had given him the money to buy a soda himself, but Selina used Bruce’s ridiculous $100 to cover it all. Since milk and baking powder cost less than $10, even after Selina picked the most expensive option for both.

“Don’t tell the other kids,” Selina said, as she handed Jason his M&Ms and Dr. Pepper in the car.

“Spoiled brats can get their own candy.”

“You know,” she said as she started the car, “you’re one of those spoiled brats, now.”

Jason frowned and looked down at his M&Ms. Was that even true?

Bruce was adopting him. It hadn’t happened yet, Bruce said it was going to take months and it’d have to be approved by a judge and everything, but that was the eventual _goal._

He was going to be just as much Bruce’s kid as Dick and Damian were.

And Bruce _did_ spoil him already. Jason had to fight him, sometimes, to get him to stop wasting money on him. And sometimes… sometimes Jason had stopped fighting it. He really _liked_ getting new books or shoes or his newest hoody.

Having things was nice.

Did that make him spoiled? Rich?

Or was he just a poor kid pretending to be rich? Would the kids at school accept him or dismiss him as a street rat pretending to be high class?

Maybe he should just stay homeschooled…

“Okay, what’s with the sad face,” Selina said, after doing a double take at him while they were stopped at a light, “Did I do that?”

Jason shook his head and put a couple M&Ms into his mouth, trying his best to figure it out. He should just be thankful for the opportunity to go to school and not worry about any of the other kids.

It’s not like they even mattered.

But he’d still have to interact with them…

“Was it easy?” he eventually asked, after Selina had frowned, herself, and started driving again. She was going much slower, this time.

She raised an eyebrow and looked over at him, briefly, before asking, “Was what easy?”

“Like, do people accept you at the rich snob parties n’stuff?”

Selina took a few seconds to respond, but finally did, only to ask, “Why are you asking?”

Jason felt almost stupid, for asking. It was like he was outright saying she didn’t belong among the high class, and it was so obvious everyone could tell.

But that’s how it was going to be with him, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have a Bristol accent. His accent was _heavy_ crime alley. That only became more evident when he sat next to the strong Bristol accent of Damian, or the softer and slightly British one of Bruce.

Did Bruce even know he had a British accent? It wasn’t strong or anything, but it was clearly more than just Bristol. He had to know, right? He usually put on a heavier standard Gotham one when acting as Batman, so he _had_ to know what he actually sounded like. He probably got it from Alfred.

But next to them and all their proper accents, Jason sounded _rough._

There was no way he’d blend in.

“Like,” he started, then sighed, “It’s just. I’m gonna go to Gotham Academy, and I know you and Bruce aren’t married or nothin’ so you don’t have Bruce’s name yet but I _am_ taking it and are people gonna be okay with that? Or are they gonna just hate me cause I’m street trash pretending to be rich?”

“Hmm,” she started, as she took bridge toward Bristol, “Well I can tell you people talk about me behind my back. It’s par for the course. People talk about _Bruce_ behind his back.”

So, basically rich people were terrible and Jason was going to hate them all. Just like he’d thought before he even met Bruce. So much for ‘giving people a chance.’

At least Bruce wasn’t like that, he supposed.

“But honey,” she continued, smiling so sweetly at him he wanted to duck his head and hide, “none of that matters. None of _them_ matter. The only thing that matters is how Bruce feels about you, and let me tell ya kid, he _adores_ you.”

“Oh.”

“So don’t let any of those rich assholes get under your skin. They’re probably just jealous you’ve won so much devotion from the guy they all wish they were, anyway.”

That was a funny thought. Jason never even considered people might be _jealous_ of him. Sure, his peers from Crime Alley. _Jason_ would be jealous of him, after all. Although most of them probably assume Bruce only took him to replace Dick, kind of how Jason had assumed at first…

But other rich people being jealous? Pretty funny.

Why couldn’t people just be happy with the privileges they already had?

“And if anyone gives you trouble to your face,” Selina said, after she punched in the code for the gate and waited for it to open, “ _tell_ us, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I think Bruce enjoys watching people squirm when he confronts them about messing with his kids. And I know _I_ like having people to target at the next party. There’s nothing more fun than playing ‘how many pieces of jewelry can I get before they notice.’”

Jason’s eyes widened as he turned to look at her. “Bruce lets you do that?”

“Honey, Bruce doesn’t control me.”

“Oh, I guess,” he said, slowly. He was pretty sure there was no way Bruce approved, though.

“I think he pretends he doesn’t see it,” she said, as she parked the car in the garage, “it’s not like I keep any of it.”

“You’re so cool,” Jason said in awe, as he got out of the car to follow her.

“Good,” she cheered, leading him back up into the Manor so they could give Alfred what he needed, “Someone has to be around here. Your dad can be pretty lame.”

As Jason followed her to the kitchen, still eating his M&Ms, despite promising not to tell Dick or Damian about them, all Jason could think about was how he was thankful for _Selina,_ too.

-

They had dinner at 2pm, and true to Bruce’s words, before they began eating, they went around the table.

Bruce started them off, reaching out and grabbing Jason and Selina’s hands. Apparently they were going to hold hands. Kay. He let Damian take his hand, too, when he reached out.

Bruce smiled fondly at them all and said, “I’m thankful for my three boys and my friends.”

“My cats,” Selina said, being to Bruce’s left and therefore next. After everyone just looked at her, she smirked and said, “My boyfriend and his family is good too, I guess.”

Alfred actually sat with them, for once. Which was awesome. Jason wished he’d sit with them more often, but according to Dick he did sit with the family on occasion, and _always_ on holidays and birthdays. But he still always cooked it, which was a problem in Jason’s eyes.

Maybe Jason should figure out when Alfred’s birthday was, so he could make _Alfred_ dinner for once.

“This family around me,” Alfred said, obviously squeezing Selina and Dick’s hands as he did.

Dick grinned, then took his turn by saying, “My team, my friends, and my family.”

“Figaro and Ace,” Damian said, almost petulantly. Bruce must have given him an earful about the cat getting into the kitchen.

Dick laughed and said, “That’s it?”

“Well _someone_ has to be thankful for them.”

Then it was Jason’s turn.

He’d been thinking about it _all day,_ and yet, once it came to his turn, he still wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He kind of froze, and could feel his cheeks heat a little with everyone’s eyes on him.

When Bruce ran his thumb across the back of Jason’s hand and whispered, “It’s all right, Jay,” it kind of helped push him.

Because it’s not like he had _nothing_ to say. Nothing he was thankful for.

Just looking around at the absolute _feast_ on the table, which included the jellied cranberry sauce because Jason had mentioned having that once as a kid and loving it, he couldn’t even pretend he had nothing to be thankful for.

He had _everything_ to be thankful for.

Absolutely everything.

When he finally opened his mouth to share, he surprised even himself by saying, “I’m thankful I was stupid enough to try and rob Batman.”

The next moment went the way most the rest of the afternoon went. In laughter.

And yep, there was no doubt left in Jason’s heart. He was happy to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little late, but hopefully I'll make it up to y'all. Also, this chapter is very well timed. I did not plan that at all, but I love it. Lol 
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought! Thanks for reading :D


	27. Nightwing

Dick felt awkward in his own home.

It was a weird feeling to have, but he did. Everything was tense between him and Bruce, and that sucked. Apparently Bruce couldn’t handle it, either, because he hadn’t even spent 20 minutes with them watching the parade before he’d left to go hang out with Alfred and Jason instead. 

And that was another thing.

Jason. 

He was a good kid and all, Dick supposed. He had nothing against Jason. He could be kind of a jerk, but it’s not like he didn’t have _reason_ to be a jerk. From his perspective, Dick had been hurting Damian for no reason. 

If nothing else, had had to respect the new kid wanting to defend Damian. He’s glad there was someone around to do that, when Dick wasn’t. 

Just kind of sucked that Jason felt the need to defend Damian from Dick. 

The real problem with Jason was Dick didn’t _know_ him. But everyone else did. And they all adored him. It made Dick feel like an outsider in his own family.

Then everyone else just felt… icy toward him. 

Like none of them knew exactly how to talk to him, one on one. It was fine if they were together as a group. It wasn’t quite so awkward then, but when it was just him and Alfred, or just him and Damian, everything felt off. 

Dick hated it. 

Maybe that was why he’d turned in for the night a little earlier than everyone else. 

Well, when he said turned in, what he really meant was lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling for an hour. But whatever, same thing. No one bothered him.

That is, until someone did. 

“You were wrong you know,” Jason said, from just beyond the threshold of his room. Dick craned his head just enough to see the kid standing there, nervously, like he were ready to bolt at the twitch of Dick’s face. 

Great. 

Now Dick was going to feel guilty when he scared Jason off. 

“‘Scuse me,” he said anyway, knowing it was probably going to come off rude and standoffish and Jason would run. 

Whatever. Might as well get it over with. 

“About Bruce,” Jason said, surprising Dick more when he took a couple steps into Dick’s room, rather than bolt at his less-than-sweet tone, “He didn’t out-stubborn me.” 

Dick chuckled, a little, at that. He’d heard about Bruce offering to adopt Jason, and how well it went. “Yeah, he’s surprised me a couple times recently.” 

Jason nodded, then seemed to falter some. He picked at his sleeve and looked around Dick’s room, while he clearly fought with himself over talking.

If Dick had anything to say to the kid, he would have said it to relieve the tension. But he didn’t. Cause he didn’t know _how_ to talk to this child. 

Which, was probably Jason’s problem, too. 

But Dick didn’t care if Jason was in his room, so he let him stand there for a full minute, before Jason finally asked, “Are you moving back in?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. He hadn’t really spoken to Bruce at all, about any of that. Since their chat at the Tower, they’d _spoken,_ but, like, not about anything important. 

He knew that conversation was bound to happen at some point. Probably in the next couple days. _Tomorrow,_ if Dick had to bet. Since Saturday was Damian’s birthday, and Bruce knew Dick wouldn’t leave before celebrating that. 

That was going to be great…

“Are you still mad at Bruce?” Jason asked, inching closer to Dick. Like he were trying to get a better look at his face or something. _Read_ him. 

Right. Right. 

Abuse victim. Reading his facial expression. Looking out for danger…

Dick was being a total jackass by being completely indifferent toward this kid. Jason didn’t deserve that. He deserved to feel safe in his own house, not anxious about the bigger person he didn’t know and wasn’t being allowed to get to know.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as he sat up and scooted back against the headboard. Jason raised an eyebrow at him, but then hesitantly sat on the very foot of his bed, when Dick held out his hand in welcoming to sit. “I don’t know,” he finally said, in response to the kid’s question, “sort of, I guess.”

“You’re not,” Jason started, then paused to wrap his arms around himself, then try again, much quieter, “You’re not mad at Bruce cause of me, are you?”

Yep. Dick was a total asshole. Totally deserved any and all shit from Jason or anyone else. 

“No,” he said quickly, “no. I promise. I’m not.” 

It was… true. Mostly. Sure he _had_ been a little maybe angry at Bruce over picking up another kid to replace him, but that was before he got the full story. 

Who could blame him, though. He’d gone home to find a random kid he had no knowledge of call himself a ‘brother.’ Or, well, ‘foster brother,’ since Jason had still been in denial at the time. 

But that was also largely Dick’s fault. Because once he’d finally gone back through and listened to all the voicemails and read the texts, it turned out that Bruce _had_ told Dick about Jason.

Right from the very start. 

Had even sent Dick a picture of Jason from probably 6 hours into the kid being at the manor. 

And Bruce hadn’t been exaggerating. Jason had looked starved. Maybe not at the ‘will die if not fed now’ level, but it was obvious he’d been without a reliable food source for a while. 

How on _earth_ could Dick be mad Bruce took in a kid on the edge of dying from starvation or gangs or whatever else Jason had been facing? Hell, had Dick been there that night, he probably would have been advocating for taking Jason home, too. 

It was even harder to hate Jason, or be mad about his presence, now that Dick knew how sweet a kid Jason could be. Sure, he was a little prickly. Kind of an asshole. But it was clear, deep down, he was a bleeding heart and really _cared_ about people. 

Hell. Just being worried that his existence was putting a strain on Dick and Bruce’s relationship was proof of that. 

Dick would never, _never_ try to take Jason away from this house. Especially since Jason seemed to _trust_ Bruce. That in and of itself was a _feat,_ Dick knew, just knowing Jason’s background. 

No. He couldn’t possibly be mad Bruce had done such a good thing for such a needing and deserving child. 

Looking back at Jason, who was looking everywhere _but_ at Dick, he said, “You’re not mad you got a dick of a big brother, are you?”

It was sort of an apology.

That was apparently all Jason needed to hear, because he looked right at Dick and absolutely _lit up._ Like he’d been told Santa came, or something. Like his hero had walked into the room and addressed him by name. Like Dick had just done _exactly_ what Jason had longed for.

He had no idea what he’d done to win the adoration of this kid, but Dick would be a liar if he said it didn’t make him feel a little good… He enjoyed being an older brother, after all. Little brothers were fun to mess with. And spend time with. And teach things. 

Now he had two little brothers. 

That… that was a fun thought. 

“So is it ‘Jay’ or ‘Jason?’” he asked, when it was obvious Jason had nothing to say in response other than smile. 

Apparently, that wasn’t a question the kid had ever been asked. Because he said, “um,” and looked absolutely confused. 

Didn’t he have a preference?

“It’s just that, everyone calls you ‘Jason’ except Bruce, and he calls you ‘Jay,’ so I wasn’t sure which was your preference.”

“I don’t know why Bruce calls me ‘Jay,’” he said, his brow knit as he looked off into the distance. As if turning over his every interaction with Bruce to figure that out. “He’s called me ‘Jay’ pretty much since when I met him and I don’t get it because I never said that was my name.” 

Way to go Bruce. Rename a kid mere seconds after meeting him.

There was never not a plan to adopt Jason, was there?

“So ‘Jason,’ then?”

“I- I don’t know,” Jason said, still looking a little dazed, “I like ‘Jay.’” 

“Yeah?” Dick asked, smiling a little. Because damn was _that_ adorable. Dick liked the name ‘Dick’ because his parents had given it to him. 

There was _definitely_ never not a plan to adopt Jason. 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, mirroring Dick’s smile, even if a little more shyly.

“Well then, welcome to the family, Jay.”

That did it.

Jason full on grinned. Ended up biting his lip, as if to stop himself as he bounced up and back toward the door. Right before he left, he turned around and said, “Night, Dick,” then skipped off toward his room. 

Yeah. Two little brothers was pretty cool. 

\- 

The conversation with Bruce happened much later than Dick had been anticipating. 

Bruce hadn’t cornered him all day on Friday, and so when Bruce went to tuck Damian into bed, something he did right before going on patrol, Dick thought he’d escaped it. 

But, of course, he couldn’t be so lucky.

Because instead of going out on patrol immediately after, Bruce walked into the den Dick had been watching cartoons in and sat on the couch next to him.

He had to hand it to Bruce, though. He managed to pretend for five whole minutes he just wanted to watch Family Guy with him. 

Even though Dick knew Bruce _hated_ that show. 

When the commercials popped on, though, Bruce finally cleared his throat and asked, “So what are your plans?”

“Plans?” Dick parroted, pretending to be _really_ interested in an egg cracker that was going to change his life. Because. Cracking eggs for omelets and stuff was _hard._

“Yes, for your future. You don’t want to to go college and work at WE, which is fine. So what _do_ you want to do?”

“Oh.” 

That. 

Yeah. 

Dick had been thinking about that _a lot._ He knew he couldn’t just live at Titans Tower for the rest of his life. It was terrible for secret identities, first off. And second, eventually, the press was going to get curious about what happened to Dick Grayson. Wonder why he moved to a completely different city and became basically a shut in. That would be a major scandal. Shit would get thrown at both him _and_ Bruce. And it would possibly hurt the entire family, because of the assumptions that would be made about how Bruce treated him.

It was unfair, but that was just how it was.

So he had to do _something_ with his life. 

There were a lot of paths he could take. But there was only one profession he really enjoyed. One thing that made his life have meaning. Made getting up each morning worth it. 

And that was helping people. 

Sure, there were tons of ways he could help people as a day job. He could be a social worker. He could be a nurse. He could run a charity.

But none of that was what he wanted. 

Dick wanted to be in the field. He wanted to be _out there._ He had the physical capability of offering hands-on-help. Chasing down gang members and shielding children from abusers. He knew _how_ to be a hero. How to solve crimes. Investigate. Help criminals change. Comfort victims. 

That was honestly what he _lived_ for.

There was only one profession where he could do that. Legally. In the public eye. 

Bruce was going to _hate_ it, though.

“Just lay it on me,” Bruce said, as if he’d already sensed Dick’s apprehension. The way his arm was back behind Dick, his body slightly facing him, it was a little comforting. 

He wasn’t closed off, at least. He seemed open to actually talk. 

Maybe. 

Only one way to find out.

“I want to be a cop.” 

Bruce was silent for a long moment. So long, in fact, the commercial break ended and Family Guy came back on. Dick hit mute on the remote and waited for his dad to either explode or whatever it was he was going to do. 

Considering Dick would carry a gun, as a cop, he was not expecting Bruce to be even remotely happy about this. 

Even if he had friends in the police force. Even _if_ he approved of the profession on some level. 

But Bruce finally nodded, slowly, like he were nodding at himself and whatever it was he was thinking, and said, “Okay. In New York?” 

“Well, actually,” Dick said, looking away and picking at a piece of lint on his pj pants. This was another thing he’d been thinking long and hard about. New York was great and all, but it wasn’t home. And Dick _knew_ Gotham. He knew the problems it had. The problems the police force had. If Bruce was okay with it… “I’d rather join the GCPD.” 

Apparently Bruce was fine with that. Because he didn’t say anything in objection. “Just so I understand, you want to be both a cop _and_ Robin?” 

“Something like that.” He wanted to be a vigilante and a cop, yes. 

“You’ll have no break from that life, Dick,” Bruce said seriously, like he wanted to make _sure_ Dick understood.

Dick _did_ understand. He wasn’t an idiot.

He knew exactly what he was getting into.

“You’re going to see the worst society has to offer, all day and all night.”

“I know,” he said impatiently. It’s not like he hadn’t been seeing ‘the worst society has to offer’ since he was _nine. “_ But I can also help make it better, Bruce.” 

“Will you live _in_ Gotham, then?” Bruce asked, not at all subtly. 

“Eventually,” Dick admitted. 

Because living in Gotham. Alone. Was a little nerve-wracking?

Plus, it was highly unlikely he could get away with that right now. At seventeen. With people like Vicki Vale in existence. Maybe in a couple years. 

And if Bruce was serious about respecting him more. Was serious about not yelling and being more open to what _Dick_ wanted his own life to be, he’d be more willing to move back home… 

That made Bruce smile. _Finally._ It wasn’t exactly approval of his life choices. It wasn’t even acceptance. But it wasn’t a rejection either. 

Dick could work with that. 

“Are you not going to be Robin anymore?” Bruce asked, seeming to finally catch what Dick had said. 

“Well you did fire me.”

“ _Dick.”_

Despite himself, Dick smiled. He’d only been teasing, but it was nice to know Bruce really did feel bad about that. Perhaps he wasn’t lying when he said he was going to take it back, way back when this all started.

It didn’t matter anyway. Dick had made up his mind, and it was probably a decision he would have made anyway, even without this push. 

“Robin is Batman’s sidekick,” he explained, allowing his smile to soften. To let Bruce know he really _wasn’t_ mad about that, anymore. Not really. “And I’m-“

He paused, to try and find the right wording, but Bruce cut in and said, “You’re graduated.” 

Yeah. That worked. 

It didn’t mean he didn’t want to work with Bruce ever again. He just… wanted to keep his independence. He wanted Bruce to stop looking at him like someone he could order around and more like an equal. 

Like a _partner._

Just as they were always supposed to be. 

That is… if Bruce were willing… Based on the barely concealed sadness in Bruce’s eyes, Dick wasn’t so sure Bruce would allow that. 

“Want to see?” he asked. Maybe if he showed Bruce his new uniform, it would help. Seeing Dick as someone other than Robin might be enough for Bruce to stop seeing Dick as that little kid Bruce first took on, all those years ago. 

Or it could just make Bruce mad. 

Either way, it needed to happen sometime. And if it happened tonight, maybe Dick could do a patrol in Gotham for the first time in _months._

“You already have a costume made?” Bruce asked, clearly a little startled. 

Dick just grinned. 

It was about twenty minutes later when Dick and Bruce finally faced each other again, down in the cave. 

This time as Batman and Nightwing. 

He’d spent weeks working on his costume design. Went through several color schemes and uniform styles before finally settling on a simple black body suit with a blue bird across his chest. Similar enough to Batman’s symbol that they could be connected as teammates, but unique enough that he was his own person. 

Probably the biggest changes from his Robin outfit to this one, other than, well _everything,_ was he had a weapon, now. And no cape. 

Bruce seemed thrown off by the entire thing. Because he stood there, for a good minute, just staring, before he walked around and really inspected the suit. 

“It,” he started, then cleared his throat and came to a stop right in front of Dick again, “It looks nice. I like the color scheme.”

Of course he did. 

It was black. 

The thing Bruce complained about _most_ about the Robin uniform was how bright it was. Dick couldn’t count the number of times Bruce had tried to convince Dick to at least get a cape like Batman’s. Black on the outside so he could hide under it. 

Dick had liked his yellow cape, though. Even if it _did_ get in his way, sometimes. 

“Does it have enough armor?” Bruce then asked, furrowing his brow as he clearly inspected every inch of the uniform for all the weaknesses.

And honestly? By Bruce’s standards? No. It did not have enough armor. But Dick wasn’t Bruce.

“It has to be flexible, B,” he said, scowling just a little. He did have _some_ armor, though. Definitely more than his Robin uniform did. He wore a leotard half the year, for crying out loud. With a _t-shirt._ This uniform at least had some padding on the thighs to prevent a knife from hitting any important arteries. “I’m too acrobatic for something as heavy as your suit.”

Bruce stepped forward and reached out for Dick’s arm, gently pinching the fabric between his ungloved fingers and pulling at it. He frowned, then said, “I get that, but spandex, son?”

“It’s more than the sleeves of the Robin costume,” he said defensively. Because it _was._

Honestly. Bruce let him wear short sleeves and a leotard at nine and has an issue with spandex long sleeves and pants at seventeen? Hypocrite much?

“Your armor was me,” Bruce exasperated, “I was always there with you. If you’re going to be out there alone, you need more protection.” 

“Bruce, you can’t decide-“ he started, but stopped with a huff when Bruce held his hand up. 

“I’m not going to make you, but I think if the two of us and Alfred all get together and brainstorm, we can come up with a solution that is just as flexible as spandex _and_ offers more protection against knives and maybe bullets. Okay?”

“Fine,” he huffed, after sighing really loudly. In the end, if they could _really_ find something better without sacrificing his mobility, he’d be willing to try different options. 

It’s not like he was fully done designing his suit, after all. This was just his first complete prototype. He still needed to test it. 

“Have you picked a name yet?” Bruce asked, as he slipped his gloves on and walked over to the computer. 

Dick watched curiously as Bruce pulled up his case files. Apparently he was going to prepare for patrol now. Okay. Whatever.

“Yeah. Nightwing.” 

“Nightwing,” Bruce repeated, pausing in his typing to look over at Dick again, “I like it. It’s very fitting.” 

“Thanks,” Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wondered if Bruce would still like it if he knew Clark had been the one to give him the idea… 

Then Bruce completely startled him by asking, “Are you ready to join the Justice League?” 

The _Justice League._ Is he ‘ready?’ 

Like… like it’s a guarantee? He just has to… be ready? Get his shoes on and show up? 

Did this mean… was he officially one of the adult heroes now? Make his own name, declare himself independent, and just like that, boom he was one of the grown ups?

Then again… he was friends with most of the members. If he really thought about it, it was probably highly unlikely most of them would vote against him joining… Even if he were still a sidekick. 

But if he joined the Justice League, he’d have to leave the Titans. And, sure, there was no official rule that someone can’t be a member of both, that’s just how it’s been. You were either a member of one or the other, and that was that. 

Being a member of a team was a major commitment, after all. 

And he really enjoyed leading the Titans. _A lot._ They were like a second family to him. 

He’d rather stay there, in all honesty. And help the younger members find their footing in the hero community. That sounded far more enjoyable, far more rewarding than moving on up to be one of the younger members of the Justice League. One of the ones needing guidance to find his footing.

Even if he’s been a hero as long as many of those in the League, it was still a-whole-nother ball game. And he was quite happy with where he was at. 

Maybe someday, though.

“Not yet.” 

Bruce closed out his files, then spun in his chair to face Dick again, smiling as he did. “That’s what I figured.” Once he stood, he pulled his cowl on, and then wrapped his arm around Dick, as if to guide him toward the Batmobile. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Dick grabbed onto Bruce’s wrist and squeezed. He did know. At least, he usually thought he knew, but it was always nice to hear. 

“Want to patrol together?” Bruce asked, once they reached the Batmobile, “I’ll let you drive.” 

And Dick outright _grinned._

Driving was _not_ something Robin did unless absolutely necessary. He’d been trained on how to drive the Batmobile, of course, but never did Robin drive when Batman wasn’t seriously injured. 

Maybe Bruce wasn’t as averse to Dick growing up as he thought. 

As the night went on, and Batman and Nightwing patrolled the city, splitting off and meeting back up to cover more ground, Dick started to feel like his old self again. As the ice melted away and talking felt natural again. 

And when Bruce groaned at his nineteenth pun of the night, Dick couldn’t help but smile. Maybe sticking around Gotham wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D This is quite exciting, y'all. This was the last chapter before the epilogue. Which is WILD to me. This fic is finally wrapping up!
> 
> The next chapter is the epilogue, like I said. I'm not sure how long it's going to be, but it'll fast forward us in time some and be from Bruce's POV looking at how they're all doing. I will get that up sometime in the next week. It might end up being a Sunday update, or it might land on like Wednesday. I have no idea. Depends on when I get time. 
> 
> THEN, 'chapter 29' is like a post-credits scene, in the same fashion as the last chapter of In For a Penny was. It will be like 200 words, as well, and I will post it the same day I post the first chapter of the Tim & Cass fic, since it leads us directly into the next fic. I'll put more info on when that's going to happen in the end note of the next chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!! Thanks so much for reading and following along on this crazy long journey. :D ❤️ you all.


	28. Epilogue

“ _Jason Peter Wayne,”_ Bruce shouted, for at least the third time that morning. 

It was the first day of school for the kids. 3rd grade for Damian and 8th for Jason. 

_And_ it wasTuesday. So it was Alfred’s day off. And the man was still asleep, as far as Bruce could tell.

Which meant Bruce was trying to corral Damian and Jason himself and get their butts in gear. For the first time. In three months.

Considering he had to yell _three times_ up the stairs for Jason, he wasn’t doing very well. 

“ _Jason,”_ he shouted again, _“_ two more minutes. If you aren’t down here I’m leaving without you and you’ll miss the first day of school.”

After three months of no schedules and the lawlessness of summer, Bruce understood _why_ they were having a difficult time getting a move on, but they were trying his patience. 

If this was what the school year was going to be like, maybe Bruce _would_ hire a nanny. 

Just to get the boys to school each morning.

Absolutely no one in the house would appreciate that. Least of all, Jason. He’d whine about being at teenager and _far too old_ to be babysat. Just like he did every single time Bruce asked Dick to babysit. 

“ _Jason.”_

 _“I heard you,”_ Jason yelled back, “I’m coming, chill out.”

And sure enough, Bruce heard Jason’s feet stomp down the stairs as he _finally_ joined them for breakfast. He’d taken so long, though, he didn’t really have time left to eat. So Bruce had already heated him up a breakfast sandwich and had it sitting on a paper towel at his seat. He’d just have to eat it on the road.

If he didn’t like the ham and cheese one Bruce had picked, well tough. Maybe next week he’d be on time for breakfast. 

From the looks of it, he’d spent all his time on his hair. Jason was going to be one of _those_ teenagers, wasn’t he?

He’d only been thirteen a few weeks, and already Bruce was exasperated with him.

Jason took a seat at his spot and quickly downed the vitamins with the orange juice Bruce had also laid out. 

Dr. Thompkins had made a lot of recommendations to help Jason recover more from the malnutrition he suffered for years before moving in with Bruce, and, thankfully, Jason hadn’t protested them much. 

Well. He hadn’t protested the vitamins. The shots, however…

It’d been quite the ordeal, the first time Jason had to get shots. It had just been a couple vaccines, but he’d thrown a full on tantrum over it. Throwing things, screaming, stomping his feet, tantrum. 

Bruce had to restrain him, in the end. He’d felt horrible for it, but they had, thankfully, been in the cave. So Bruce had been able to hold him for a while after and talk him down. Had they been at Leslie’s office there was no way they would have had the chance to do that. Leslie was busy, and her office was rarely available for them to sit around for hours. 

So when Leslie suggested growth hormone shots to help catch Jason up, to at least be _on_ the growth curve, rather than well below the 5th percentile for his age, Bruce had expected Jason to freak out and accuse them all of trying to get him hooked on drugs. 

Instead, he’d agreed, albeit very reluctantly. 

As a result, he’d grown over four inches since moving in with Bruce. He was still _tiny_ for his age, but at least he was _growing._

“Mornin’,” Dick said, as he sauntered into the dining room, his own breakfast already prepared. 

Dick had thrown together something a little healthier than what the boys were eating, and it didn’t look too difficult to prepare. It was just yogurt with granola and fruit added.

Maybe Bruce should make that for the boys instead of whatever microwave breakfasts they had in the freezer. Or pop tarts.

But then again, the kids _liked_ pop tarts. And he’d always been a sucker for giving his children what they _liked._

 _“_ Hi Dick,” Damian mumbled, as he finished off his breakfast. All he needed to do was put his tie and shoes on and they could go. 

Jason needed to do the same. But he seemed to have gotten distracted by scarfing down his breakfast. 

As he passed Jason to take a seat at the table, Dick ruffled Jason’s hair, earning himself a smacked hand and a very indignant squawk from Jason.

“My hair,” Jason exclaimed, hastily trying to fix the damage Dick had done to the nicely slicked back strands, “Do you know how long I spent on it?”

“Why’re you slicking it back, it looks fine left alone,” Dick said, grinning a little deviously as he sat down, “Your curls are really cute.”

Bruce sighed, even as Jason shouted, “Screw you, dickface.” 

“Language,” he chastised, as he pulled the comb from his pocket and started fixing Jason’s hair for him, “Finish your juice. We have to go.”

“Screw you is totally clean,” Jason protested, but then did, thankfully, down the rest of his juice. 

“I meant the other word you used,” Bruce said, patting Jason’s head once he got the hair all back into place. The gel was still wet enough that it was easy to work with. The _amount_ of gel Jason used, though…

Dick was right. His curls were cute. He should have just left them alone.

But ‘cute’ probably wasn’t something Jason wanted to be. He was a ‘teenager,’ after all. 

That had been quite the event. His birthday. The first one he’d had since being adopted. Bruce had technically met Jason mere days after his twelfth birthday, but there had been _so much_ to deal with when it came to Jason, they hadn’t celebrated. 

Hell. Celebrating Jason’s birthday at that point probably would have caused the kid to bolt. 

They’d thrown a party, of course, for his thirteenth. Jason only invited his friends from the hero community, despite Bruce’s encouragement to invite school friends. 

It wasn’t like Jason didn’t get along with the kids at school. He got along with them fine. He knew Jason had been nervous about how his classmates would react to a ‘street rat,’ but over all the kids had been nice enough. There were even a few kids he ate lunch with everyday, but beyond that? Jason hadn’t really made friends.

Which was fine. He got on great with the younger members of Dick’s team. Dick was happy enough to bring Jason with him to the tower, too. A weekend or two a month. 

And even with how much time he spent around heroes, Jason hadn’t shown any interest in being a hero, himself. Thank God. Bruce thought maybe it was because Jason had dealt with enough violence in his life, he was enjoying not having to experience it, now. But he wasn’t sure. 

That didn’t mean Jason hadn’t found a way to better Gotham, anyway. He’d been involved in every Catherine Foundation meeting to date, and lately had begun speaking up during the meetings. He’d given a speech, too, at a Gala. In front of all the prominent Gothamites.

Bruce couldn’t be more proud of him. He’d really been conquering his anxiety and putting himself out there, regardless of what other people thought. 

Which reminded him. “Don’t forget, you have an appointment after school today.” With Karen. She _did_ see children, as it turned out.

When it was for Bruce. 

Jason had been seeing her for about six months, and so far it seemed to help. But Bruce was never privy to anything they talked about, because Jason never talked about it.

That was fine with Bruce. There was a lot he’d talked about he’d never tell any of his kids, after all. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said, waving his hand at Bruce, “I _know.”_

“Okay. Shoes and ties,” he said, to both boys, “we have to go.” 

Damian hopped up and retrieved his shoes from where he’d thrown them on the ground before breakfast and started putting them on. 

Jason, however, started eating his breakfast.

“I’m serious, Jay. We are going to be late.” 

“Wait,” Jason whined, with his mouth full, “I’m eating.”

Bruce grabbed his keys off the table and said, “You can eat in the car, come on.” At this point, Jason would have to put his shoes on in the car, too. 

“I’m ready, Dad,” Damian said, bouncing over to stand next to Bruce, backpack on his back and tie… in his hand.

“Tie,” he prodded, then took Jason’s sandwich out of his hand to prompt the kid, “Come on.” 

Jason scowled at him, but stood to retrieve his own shoes and backpack from where he’d gracefully thrown them on the floor, just inside the dining room. That was a habit he needed to train out of _both_ the boys, wasn’t it?

It hit him, then, just how far Jason had come in a year. He’d just taken food out of the boy’s hands, and instead of a tantrum or panic attack, Jason had simply given him attitude. Just like any normal thirteen-year-old child. 

Bruce wasn’t sure if it would _ever_ get old, seeing all the ways Jason displayed his full trust in Bruce. 

“Can you tie my tie,” Jason asked, shoving his tie at Bruce. 

“Can’t you do it yourself?” Bruce knew for a fact he could. He’d tied his own tie most the year, last year. After Bruce showed him how to do it once, he’d never asked for help on it again.

“No,” Jason whined, long and drawn out, “It looks awful you do it.”

“Jay you know how to-“

“Please, Dad,” Jason begged, smiling sweetly as he did. 

And Bruce just sighed. 

Because this kid. He knew _exactly_ how to manipulate Bruce. 

Bruce kind of hated how well it worked, too.

“Fine, but we will not make this a habit.”

“Why?” Jason asked, as he turned around and let Bruce do the knot from behind. It was much easier that way. “You always say I’m the kid and you’re the adult. That means you tie my tie.”

“You’re such a brat,” Bruce said, tightening the tie a _little_ too tightly. Just to hear his indignant squeak. 

But he didn’t squeak. He just gave Bruce a shit eating grin as he loosened it, and seemed to say with his face, ‘yeah but you love me anyway.’ 

Brat.

It was true. 

Damian tugged at Bruce’s sleeve and held his own tie up and said, “Dad can you tie mine, too?”

“Do I have to tie everyone’s ties?” he sighed. They were so late now. They’d be lucky to be _only_ fifteen minutes late, at this point. “Dick? Do you need me to tie your tie?”

“My tie’s clip on, B.” 

“No fair,” Jason exclaimed, as Bruce fixed Damian’s tie, “I want a clip on.”

Clip ons looked terrible. Bruce was glad the kids couldn’t wear them. “Your school doesn’t allow it.” 

“What a crock!”

Dick laughed, between bites and said, “You don't have people trying to choke you out with your tie.”

“You don’t know my life.”

“Enough,” Bruce said, standing once Damian’s tie was one. “Boys. Car. We have to go.”

Jason grabbed his sandwich from where Bruce had set it on the table, then scampered off toward the car, Damian hot on his heels. 

“See you, Dick,” Bruce said, as he turned to follow them, “Be safe today.”

“Always, B. Love you, too.” 

Dick hadn’t been out in the field yet, thankfully, but Bruce knew he was getting close. He’d been hired on directly to the GCPD once he turned 18, and was now going through training. A couple more months, Dick had said, and then he’d get his license. 

To Bruce’s continued amusement, he’d been required to sign up for classes at Gotham University, too. To earn an associates of some sort. Dick had chosen criminal justice and already completed two semesters, there. With his GED, he’d been able to start back in the spring. And with the number of credits he took on, he would be done in December. 

Bruce did not say a single word about that, though. Not a _peep._

Because Dick was happy. He was happy and _home._ That was more than enough for Bruce. 

All his boys were happy. 

Not a day went by Bruce wasn’t thankful for all of them. 

Even on days where getting the boys going was hard, and he had to listen to Jason and Damian bicker the entire way to school, where he dropped them off 20 minutes late, Bruce couldn’t imagine doing anything else with his life. 

He had three happy boys. 

Life couldn’t get much better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! We're done. Oh my gosh. Well, we still have 'chapter 29,' but like I said last week, that's going to be very short and is more like a 'post credit scene' style thing, like the final chapter of In For a Penny. It is foreshadowing for the next fic. 
> 
> I'm going to be posting that the same time I post chapter one of the next fic, which will introduce both Tim and Cass to this AU! I'm so excited for that, y'all! As of right now, I'm thinking that will happen mid to late January. I like to take a break between fics, and I have a lot to outline and get straightened out when I don't have the pressure of weekly updates.
> 
> As always, thanks so much to my awesome beta Kasyfairytaillover. She really helped me with this final chapter, because I was struggling with it. That's why it's late. But yeah. Thanks ❤️❤️
> 
> And thank all of you for reading and commenting and kudosing and everything. I honestly am shocked I have now finished my fourth longfic, and it's seriously because of the feedback I get on here. So thank you so much. ❤️


	29. Postlogue

She always knew her beloved was… soft.

But a street rat.

Honestly.

What had happened to her beloved that he sank _this low_?This was not the man she admired. This was _not_ the man she chose to be her son’s father.

The circus brat was bad enough, but she knew her son would spend the majority of his childhood without her beloved’s first… _acquisition_. 

Damian was seven now, and Richard eighteen. That should have meant Damian had eleven years of his father to himself. His father’s training to himself.With Richard out of the picture, Bruce might even train Damian to fight alongside him.

That was the _only reason_ Talia was allowing Damian to stay there. While he wasn’t receiving the training Talia could offer him, she thought he would at least get training from Batman.

But now her beloved had picked up a piece of trash right off the street. And taken him _home_.

To be around _her son_.

He would, no doubt, receive Bruce’s attention when it came to training.Even if Bruce continued to train Damian, now he had a larger, older boy to accompany him out on the street. And someone a little more expendable than Damian, she supposed, but still.

She was tired of seeing Bruce devoting himself to children that weren’t _their_ son. 

Damian deserved more than that.He deserved Bruce’s undivided attention. That’s what Damian would receive in her care, after all.Her undivided attention. 

It was about time Damian received that.

“Send the girl.”

“Lady Talia,” Cain said. No, _pleaded_. It didn’t become him, the tone. “She is not ready.”

The child was as ready as she would ever be.

“You have had ten years. Either she is ready, or she will never be.”

From what Talia had seen, she was remarkable. Cain had too little faith. Or was, perhaps, too attached. 

He was not meant to get _attached_. The girl was not a daughter. He knew that.

“What about yours,” Cain said, his voice _dangerously_ close to defiant. He should know Talia did not take well to _defiance_.

Talia raised an eyebrow, and watched as Cain squared his shoulders.But she could see the ripple of anxiety that shot through him, even if he was moderately good at concealing it.

“No one must know of him. His training is progressing, but he is still too young.”

“Lady Talia, I need-“

“No,” she said, sharply, “Send the girl. Now.”

Cain hesitated, but bowed and murmured, “Yes, my lady.”

This was good.In a few weeks time, Damian would be back in her care. No street rats or circus brats or soft billionaires around to corrupt him any further.

Assuming he was still salvageable, at his age, she might not even have need for the other one.

Yes. This was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know postlogue isn’t really a word but I already used epilogue okay? 😂
> 
> I decided to go ahead and post this so I could mark this story as “completed.” It was brought to my attention that people are waiting for that check mark to read it, so here you are. :) 
> 
> The plan right now is to start posting the Tim & Cass story March 15th, at the absolute latest. That is when weekly updates will begin. I might get a chapter out before then, we will see. Depends on how much free time I get. There is a one shot I posted in the series, so if you want more Jay & Bruce feels hit next work in series. 
> 
> Obviously I went with “crazy b****” Talia for this series. If you want good mom Talia I wrote that for Jason and the Three Terrors so check that out. :) it IS on regular updates right now cause I’m so far ahead in it. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, leaving kudos, commenting, etc. I appreciate you all. ❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Updates every Sunday!  
> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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